


Invisible

by justanotherbusyfangirl



Series: Invisible [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2019-09-05 23:46:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 39,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherbusyfangirl/pseuds/justanotherbusyfangirl
Summary: Cursed as a child, you have lived your entire life invisible and alone. When deaths start happening in your town, the Winchesters come rolling in to investigate. What will happen when Dean is the first one who has been able to see you since you were a kid? Will Sam believe that you’re real? Will Dean believe you when you tell him you haven’t killed anyone? And why, after all of this time, is Dean Winchester the only one who can see you?





	1. Prologue

You laughed as you followed the blue butterfly, your still growing legs stumbling slightly beneath you. You knew that your parents would probably be mad that you had run so far away from your house, but the butterfly looked just like one in your book and you really wanted to catch it to show it off to your next door neighbor, Maggie. Maggie was 13 and really cool, and you did anything you could to help Maggie like you.

The butterfly led you down to the creek below your house, hovering a few times as if it were taunting you to follow. You reached out with your small hands to grab it a few times, but each time it flapped away before you could get it.

The rocks around the creek were slightly wet, but you were wearing your play-clothes and tennis shoes, so you could hop from rock to rock without worrying about slipping. You followed the butterfly down the creek before it turned and went off in another direction.

Not really caring about how to find your way home at the moment – you only had eyes for that butterfly – you followed. You crashed through some high-growing grass, stumbling and falling. You scraped your knee a bit, but you knew that mom would be able to put a band-aid on it to fix it up once you got back home, so you didn’t worry.

Finally, the butterfly brought you away from the grass and trees, and a house came into view. It reminded you of the house that Aurora lived in with her fairy godmothers, and you smiled at the thought of your favorite movie. You started singing to yourself and the butterfly, your arms reaching for it as it hovered just above your head.

You gasped in surprise when the butterfly landed on your finger, bringing it slowly toward your face and watching it in wonder. It slowly flapped its wings, and you looked at the combination of blue and black patterns on it, mesmerized.

You were too busy looking at the butterfly to notice that the house in front of you was suddenly engulfed with light, brightness streaming from the windows. It wasn’t until you heard a scream and a crash that you looked up, seeing an old face glaring out the window at you.

The woman looked very angry, and it frightened you. She looked nothing like the friendly fairy godmothers from Sleeping Beauty. You started walking backward, keeping your eyes on the house.

The woman opened the front door, shouting things at you that you didn’t understand. Your eyes began to water, terrified of this stranger. Suddenly you wished that you were back at home, that you had never seen the pretty blue butterfly and followed it here. You wished that you had listened to your parents about not going to the creek by yourself, wished you were back home with them, safe.

As you took a step backward, your heel caught on something on the ground and you fell onto your bottom. The butterfly flew away from your hand as you landed, and you caught yourself as best you could with your hands. The woman took a few steps off of her porch, yelling something else and pushing her hand in the air toward you.

You watched as the world around you seemed to move in slow motion, some sort of energy leaving the woman’s hand and heading in your direction. You cried out, but there was nothing you could do as you were hit with an invisible force, making you lay flat on your back on the ground.

You heard the woman retreat back into her house before you stood up. You looked down at your clothes: oh your mom would be _so_ mad at how dirty you had gotten. Your knee was scraped from your earlier fall and your hands were now bruised as well. You had dirt on your back and felt a stick in your hair.

Seeing yourself so dirty and injured, heart still racing from your encounter with the scary woman, you began to cry.


	2. Chapter One

_Seeing yourself so dirty and injured, heart still racing from your encounter with the scary woman, you began to cry._

You were already dreading the lecture you were going to get from your parents. Slowly and sadly, you found your way through the bushes and grass back to the creek. It took you a lot longer to get back home than it did for you to get to the scary woman’s house, as you weren’t exactly sure how to get back, and your knee was starting to hurt.

Maybe mom and dad would understand that you were already sorry, your injuries punishment enough, and you wouldn’t have the TV taken away from you tonight.

You finally made your way back to your backyard, smiling as you saw your mom at the back door.

“Y/N!” she called, a hand cupping her mouth. “Time for dinner, come inside!”

You started to run, stumbling slightly, before yelling back, “Coming, mama!” She didn’t wait for you at the door, but turned back inside, leaving it ajar for you to enter. You obediently went to the kitchen, washing your dirty hands in the sink and missing the strange look your mother threw your way. Once you were clean, you sat at the table, hoping that maybe if you acted good enough through dinner, your mom wouldn’t be so mad about your messy clothes.

You watched as your dad came in from his office, going up behind your mom at the stove and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her cheek from behind. “Gross, dad!” you said to him, but he didn’t stop what he was doing.

You looked away as your mom laughed, turning toward your dad and kissing him back. “You get ready for dinner, mister. Set a good example for Y/N.”

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N,” your dad replied, letting go of your mom and turning to wash his own hands.

Your mom spoke again from the stove, “Oh, and I think we have a leak in that sink. Can you take a look after dinner?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” your dad replied, drying his hands. He still had his back to you as he continued, “Now where is that little girl of ours?”

You laughed, knowing your dad loved to play games. “Oh, Daddy, don’t be so silly. I’m right here!”

“I called for her in the backyard, she should be around here somewhere,” your mom replied, and you giggled. Your dad made a show of going to the back door and yelling your name again, standing there for a minute.

“You see her?” your mom asked, starting to bring the dishes to the table. You giggled again, loving the game they were playing.

“No, I’ll go find her,” your dad replied, stepping out onto the back porch and going on a search. You laughed as you watched him through the large windows, walking from one side of the yard to the other, looking around all your play equipment and in your usual hiding spots. 

While he searched, your mom continued her charade of not seeing you in the kitchen, finishing setting the table and pouring the drinks. You looked at what was for dinner: pork chops (they tasted alright), mashed potatoes (yummy if you put enough butter on them), and your favorite: macaroni and cheese. Your mom put your lemonade down on your placemat, and you took a huge gulp of it immediately.

She walked toward the back door, calling out to your dad, “Come on, stop playing, let’s eat!” You giggled again, missing the strange look your mom gave your lemonade glass, before picking it up again and refilling it.

Your dad walked in, throwing his hands in the air. “Can’t find her. You sure she was outside?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure. I saw her playing out there only a half hour ago,” your mom snapped back, and you were shocked at her tone of voice.

“Come on, mom, dad, you can stop now. I’m right here!” you said smiling, looking between the two of them. They didn’t react.

“Maybe she snuck up to her room,” your dad suggested, walking toward the stairs. “Y/N, get down here for dinner, right now please!” he bellowed, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Daddy, stop playing!” you said again, your stomach growling from the sights and smells of food in front of you. “If you’re playing because I’m dirty, I’m really sorry about that. Let’s just eat dinner, okay?”

He didn’t react to your plea, and you looked to your mom. “Mom, come on. Dinner time, remember?”

She didn’t look at you either. You got out of your chair, going over and standing directly in front of her. “Mom! This isn’t funny anymore.”

She was still looking at your dad, who now had a furrowed brow and was heading up the stairs. “Moooommm,” you complained, jumping up and down a bit. She still didn’t look at you as she sat in her seat, her face now exactly your height. You stood right in front of her.

“Not funny,” you said, wanting to see her smile at the joke, finally.

It didn’t happen. She didn’t even take her eyes off of the staircase, even though you were standing right in front of her. You waved your hand in front of her face. “Mom, look at me.”

She didn’t flinch at your waving hand, even when it was right in front of her. You frowned, not understanding, but didn’t say anything because your dad came barreling down the stairs.

“Y/N’s not in her room. Meredith, I don’t think she’s here.”

You had never heard your dad sound the way he did in that moment. He sounded scared. You ran to him. “Dad!” you yelled, jumping right in front of him, waving your arms in front of his face. He didn’t react. “Daddy!” you said louder, clapping your hands together right in front of his nose.

Nothing.

Your parents, for some reason, couldn’t see you.

Shocked, you sat back in your seat at the table, quietly watching as your dad ran back outside to search again and your mom called the police. You watched as officers came into your house, their eyes never giving you a glance as your parents handed a picture of you to them, telling them what you were wearing and what you looked like in great detail.

They didn’t notice when you quietly ate your pork chop with your hands, something your mom wouldn’t have ever let you do before. You had some mashed potatoes, and a lot of macaroni and cheese, too, but no one noticed.

You watched as the police left, your parents sitting together quietly on the couch before falling asleep. You sat in the chair across from them, crying in confusion as you wondered what was happening to you.


	3. Chapter Two

It was months later by the time the police gave up their search for you. Your parents still hadn’t given up, bless them, but they were losing hope. All the police kept telling them was that the chance percentage of finding you alive fell with every day that passed.

You were always right there, sitting or standing next to your mother and father, whenever the police visited, or whenever your parents went to the precinct. Yes, it was difficult to sneak into the car, and sometimes you couldn’t get there in time so you had to follow on your bike, but you went wherever they went.

You had gotten good at making yourself sandwiches, following all of the rules your mom had given you before about eating healthy. An apple a day, milk at every meal, never too much candy. (Except for that one time when you ate three Hershey’s chocolate bars in one sitting just because you knew your mother wouldn’t see, but that was the only time you did that because you got the _worst_ bellyache. You figured she was right about her rules after that one.)

You thought maybe they would notice the food disappearing, or the dirty dishes, or the fact that you would leave your blanket out or change your clothes…but they never noticed.

Your room was left untouched. For the first few weeks, your mom would go sit there every night, hugging your favorite teddy bear. When she would leave, you would hug it too, as if it were transferring her love through the hugs. But after a while, she stopped going in your room. Eventually you were the only one who ever went in there, to get a change of clothes or read a book – sometimes even you needed to find time to be by yourself.

But really you were by yourself all the time now, weren’t you?

You kept talking to them, always talking, hoping maybe one day maybe, just maybe, they would hear you talking and everything would be okay again. 

But they never did.

* * *

Years went by.

Being invisible meant that you had to become a grown-up, learn how to take care of yourself, _real fast_. 

You still lived at your parents’ house, sleeping in either your old room or on the couch, eating their food sometimes, but eventually that got boring.

You made yourself go to school. Yeah, a seven year old never really thinks of school as fun, but you quickly realized that there was no way for you to learn from the people in your life anymore, at least not directly. You were going to have to take care of yourself, and you’d need to go to school to learn how to do that.

Luckily, you were able to go in and out of classrooms easily, finding an empty desk to sit at, not getting distracted by people passing you notes or whispering to you. You even found yourself taking notes sometimes, and you kept a spiral of “IMPORTANT THINGS” as you wrote in big block letters on the front.

You thought a couple times that people might find your spiral, notice that your name was the one doodled on the front, realize that you were there. But it was as if anything that you touched, anything that was yours, had some sort of invisibility or notice-me-not attached to it as well.

You tested this theory extensively when you turned ten, wondering if you could get someone’s – _anyone’s_ – attention. You found that people could pick your things up if they were in the way, or they would walk around things you put in their path, but they’d just ignore whatever it was otherwise. You could type something on someone’s computer, but they would just erase it or close the document and continue what they were doing as if it had never been there.

You weren’t sure how it worked exactly, but you knew that all lines of communication to the people around you were null and void.

One good thing about this, though, was that when you eventually outgrew your clothes, you were able to go to a store, get new clothes that fit you (leave whatever money you could find in your father’s wallet, of course) and bring them home. Your parents never even noticed that they were doing laundry of an invisible girl, as they just went through the motions as if it wasn’t even there.

You accepted the fact that you had outgrown your kid-sized bed when you were thirteen. You were laying there one night, feet hanging off the end, and realized it was time to go. 

You had learned everything there was to learn at your K-8 school, a little faster than your classmates, you thought, and figured it was time to truly grow up. 

Time for high school.

High school was much more overwhelming than you had ever imagined, especially as an invisible person. You learned quickly to stay out of the hallways during passing period, as it was completely impossible for you to navigate the crowded halls. You chose which classes you wanted to go to easily, and didn’t bother too much with electives. You needed to learn the basics, enough to get you by in the world, but you didn’t need to take extra things.

The only elective you “took”, the place you could always be found outside of your core classes, was P.E. You didn’t know what was going to happen to you, but your health and wellness was your top priority, and that meant that you could run, climb a rope, lift weights, and dodge balls with precision.

You watched as your childhood friends grew up before your eyes. It was like some sort of high school drama television show – you watched the girls pine over the jocks, the nerds pine over the cheerleaders. You saw people get asked out then get broken up with. You were able to follow people around without them having any idea that you were there, watching them.

You realized you could probably write a book about all the embarrassing things people did, fill hundreds of pages with stories. But no one would notice it to pick it up and read it.

When you weren’t at school, you hung out at the library. No one bothers anyone at the library, so it didn’t quite feel like you were invisible. You read more books than you could count. Things that people talked about at school, things that you needed to learn more about, things that you were interested in – you read your way through the library like it was your life’s mission. 

It was a lonely life, but you made the best of it. You figured a lot of teenagers felt invisible anyways, so what was the big difference between them and you?


	4. Chapter Three

You woke up as you felt the sun warming your face, stretching as far as your body would let you and yawning loudly. The sound echoed throughout Mrs. Childress’s house, bouncing off the walls of the empty rooms.

Mrs. Childress was on vacation in Paris for three months, which was the perfect opportunity for you to stay at her house without having to move around so much. It was impossible for you to have a permanent home, as you weren’t able to interview for an apartment, buy or rent a house, get a job and earn real money, or even just send notes or emails telling people that you were alive. For the amount of time that you had attempted all of those things, especially once computers became such a thing, you wished you could have succeeded at least once. But even into the digital age, anything that came from you was merely passed over by everyone else, just as your all of your notes and other attempts at contact as a child and teenager had been.

Once you had outgrown your bedroom at your parent’s house, you had taken to squatting in empty houses around town, paying attention to when people were going on vacation or who had empty pool houses that you could crash at. You mainly stayed with people that you or your family had known for years, and hoping that they wouldn’t mind if they knew that you were actually around and living in their spaces. Mrs. Childress, for example, was the little old lady who had babysat you when you were a toddler, letting your parents go out on dates and things without having to worry about their kid. 

When you didn’t know of anyone in town with an available space for you to stay, you’d sneak into an empty room at the local hotel. While you didn’t like your living situation and really would like to have your own place, it wasn’t hurting anyone for you to stay at their places, and there really wasn’t much else you could do.

After thoroughly stretching, you got up, showering and throwing on some clothes (again, things that you supposed were stolen, even though you always donated your older clothes to the shelters around town when you outgrew them, and pretty much only ever had a few outfits on hand, since no one would see you wear the same things over and over again) and cleaning up Mrs. Childress’s guest bedroom before heading out for the day.

You went to your favorite bakery, grabbing a day-old pastry that was left in the back before walking around town a bit. Now that you were older and didn’t have school (or at least, you rarely went anymore, seeing as you were 27 and had ‘taken’ every class they offered in your town at least twice), you often just wandered around the town, helping people as much as possible and watching the world go by like it was a television show. You always had a book with you, and spent many afternoons in the park reading.

Today was Wednesday, so you knew that the elderly bible study group was getting out at 11, and many of those women were hard of hearing or had trouble walking, and you headed that direction to make sure that there were no obstacles in their way of getting in and out of the church. After that, you went to the elementary school, dragging some large branches away from the playground where they had fallen overnight, so the children wouldn’t be tempted to play in them and injure themselves.

After lunch, you found some scraps of meat and fat in the trash cans outside of the deli and took them to the area that the stray dogs often slept the afternoon away, watching happily as the canines nibbled at the surprise treats.

You ended your day as you always did: walking down to the house by the creek where the old woman who cursed you lived. Once you were older and unafraid of the woman, you had made a habit of coming down there daily to see what you could learn about the woman.

The first thing you learned was that even though she was the one who cursed you, she could not see you either, so it was easy in those first few years to sneak around her house, investigating her. You eventually learned that witches were a real-life thing – not just characters in storybooks – and that she was a practicing witch. She had obviously put a spell on you when you found her that night, and you had spent the better part of a year reading through all of her books to see if you could find the one she used and if there was a counter-curse.

It was no use, however, as the more you watched her the more you realized that she was often creating spells of her own. As you read through her books, you saw scribbles of notes and improvements in the margins, and oftentimes the words were in different languages. You had learned a bit of Latin, Greek, and Gaelic from books at the local library to help you translate things, but the witch was still much smarter than you were.

Nowadays, you dropped in on her for an hour or two every afternoon, seeing if she was still there and making sure that she hadn’t spelled anyone else who was unlucky enough to stumble upon her property. It was as if you had become a guardian of her house, but instead of guarding her from the outside world, you were guarding the outside world from her.

Today when you walked up to the property, you saw something you’d never seen before: a black Cadillac was parked off to the side of the house. The witch didn’t own a car, rarely stepped foot off her property, and you had never seen anyone else at her house in all the years you’d been watching, so this was very out of the ordinary.

Not bothering to be quiet (because no one would notice you anyways) you ran up to the house and headed into the back door, following the voices you heard to the witch’s study.

“You cannot do that, Mr. Parker,” you heard the witch say in her gravelly voice, and you got to the room in time to see her wringing her hands together earnestly, teetering back and forth on her feet.

“I’m truly sorry, ma’am,” the man replied. He was wearing a blue suit and was holding a stack of papers, trying to hand them to the witch. “This is out of my hands. I am merely the messenger. If you have any rebuttals, you may bring them to the courthouse and we can find you adequate representation.”

When the witch still didn’t take the papers from Mr. Parker, he set them down on the chair near her. “I will be back next week to discuss the situation, but you will be moved to a comfortable location, I can guarantee that.”

“No!” the witch screeched, and you saw Mr. Parker flinch at the sound. “I will never go, you cannot make me!”

Mr. Parker was taking the screaming better than you expected, and you watched them out of the corner of your eye as you moved toward the papers he had laid down. You picked them up, scanning through them quickly.

Bright red letters on every page told you exactly what was happening: EVICTION NOTICE.

They were kicking the old broad out of her house. 

You put the papers back down as you saw Mr. Parker heading to the front door, still apologizing to the woman and being as nice as he possibly could. You looked around the house, seeing it in a whole new light. Where would she take all her trinkets and spell books when she left? Could she even move some of the items safely, if they were things that had magical properties?

The slam of the front door brought you back to yourself and you watched the witch storm back into the study. She was muttering to herself, and you caught a couple phrases such as “Can’t do this…..They’ll be sorry…..Where’s that book….Stupid men.”

You watched as she opened her cabinets, the ones that held interesting things such as frog legs, hair of a gypsy, cat bones, and the like, picking up jars and putting them on the table. She never took out a spell book, but you were convinced that she was cooking something up.

You decided to stay a little longer, to see what she would do. She puttered around for a few hours, picking things up and putting them down, mixing together items and then throwing them to the side, never once sitting down. Watching her exhausted you, and she never seemed to get anywhere with her busy work, continuing to work on whatever it was in her head.

Finally, hours after the sun went down, you decided to leave for the night. You gave the old witch one last glance as she sat at her work table, still muttering and fussing with some old cloth and leather straps before you headed out the back door and to Mrs. Childress’s house to sleep, planning to return in the morning.


	5. Chapter Four

Weeks went by after the conversation between the witch and the man from the courthouse, Mr. Parker. You spent all of the next day at her house, watching as she tutted around, still mumbling to herself about horrid men and how she wasn’t appreciated.

You couldn’t blame her – you could only imagine how angry you’d be if you were being evicted from your house. Not that you had a house to be empathetic, but you could imagine, right?

A few days later when she seemed to calm down, you went to the courthouse, finding Mr. Parker and his office and trying to learn what you could about the eviction from his end. After looking through his paperwork in his desk and poking around his secretary’s desk as well, you realized that it was all very simple: the mortgage on the witch’s property had never actually been paid, but people in the bank and courthouse hadn’t worried too much about the property before because of it’s obscure location. Now a new company wanted to build on the land, and the court was finally getting around to repossessing the property, evicting the witch in the process.

Eventually, once you’d found everything out that you could, you got a bit bored of the situation. The court (once again) was moving slowly, and Mr. Parker got himself otherwise occupied by different cases. The witch seemed to be going about her normal business, so you went back to watching her for an hour or two in the afternoon, your daily routine back to normal.

Until Mr. Parker was found dead.

You noticed that something was up when the gossip level in your usual morning bakery was much louder than normal. You grabbed a newspaper from an empty table, seeing the headline immediately.

> **LAWYER MICHAEL PARKER FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME**

You read the article, realizing that it gave you no further information about how he had died, so you decided to head over to the police station. You quickly found the detective who had been put on the case, trying to listen to the conversations and understand what was happening.

Mr. Parker’s wife was there, as was his secretary. You stood at the side of the room as they were interviewed by the detective: a large, looming man by the name of Clark. He went through the usual questions: where were they when he died, what had he done during the day, was there anything out of the ordinary. Neither Mr. Parker’s wife or his secretary had any pertinent information to offer Clark, so he went to the coroner.

You followed, not particularly wanting to see the dead body, but fully invested in the situation. The coroner explained in fairly simple terms that there was no reason for Mr. Parker to be dead, and Detective Clark was handed the bag of his personal belongings. You watched as they were dumped out on the table: wallet, keys, cell phone, gum, a paper clip, some other odds and ends.

There was only one thing that caught your eye: a small parcel of leather tied up with a knot. The parcel caught Detective Clark’s eye too, and you watched as he snapped the knot and opened the small ball.

Both you and he were a bit confused when all that was inside was a bit of dirt, or at least that’s what it looked like.

But you knew. That parcel had come from the witch, you were sure of it.

Once again, you spent multiple days at the witch’s house, watching her every move. You noticed this time that she had the leather cloths and straps on one side of her work table, and she mixed many different ingredients from her cabinets up into a fine powder, like the one that had come from Mr. Parker’s pouch. She filled the small pouches with the powder, setting them aside when they were done.

You dared not touch the pouches, having a feeling that they were the reason for Mr. Parker’s death.

Now that you suspected that the witch had killed Mr. Parker, how could you help Detective Clark find her?

A letter came to the witch’s house while you were there, addressed from Mr. Parker’s office. It was strange, seeing the mail postmarked from a dead man’s workplace, but as the witch opened it you saw that it was signed by his secretary. It was merely a formality stating that the retirement home in the next town over had offered to take the old woman in, at no charge to her. The witch scoffed in anger.

You left the witch’s side to follow the Detective Clark as he searched Mr. Parker’s office. You did your best to put the files regarding the witch’s property at the top of the piles of files around the room and at his secretary’s desk, hoping that the detective would take note of the case and go to interview the witch, but Clark merely glanced over them. An eviction case was the least of his worries – Mr. Parker had many cases that were much more severe and threatening than an elderly woman getting evicted and moved to a retirement home.

You grew frustrated as Detective Clark interviewed Mr. Parker’s other cases, coming up with nothing.

A day later Mr. Parker’s secretary was found dead.

* * *

A few days later, as you were watching the witch work with her pouches, there was a knock on her front door. She tuttered to the window to see who it was before opening the door a crack with apprehension.

“Mrs. MacMahon, so sorry for the interruption. I am from the Crescent Retirement Homes, here to bring you your moving boxes and help you begin packing.”

The nice young man on the other side of the door was pleasant and friendly, and you saw his face clearly when the witch opened her door the rest of the way.

The smile on his face barely flinched when she screeched at him. “I’m not moving, you horrid boy! Get off my property! Leave my home immediately! Go! Go!”

You suspected that the guy was used to screaming elderly people, with the job he held. He nodded his head solemnly, taking steady backward steps off of the witch’s porch and property. “Yes ma’am,” he said calmly. “You have a wonderful day, and please let me know if you need more boxes.”

He motioned toward a pile of cardboard that was near the front door, and the witch screeched again, this time just screams and no words. With that, the man was in his car driving away, normal as can be. You watched the witch glare at the pile of cardboard, thinking for a moment that it might ignite in flame from her glare alone.

It didn’t, but the boxes never came into the house.

Two days later, you saw the handsome face of the young man from Crescent Retirement Homes in the obituaries, cause of death unknown.

A week later, the witch’s eviction files were passed to another lawyer when the courts reallocated Mr. Parker’s cases.

Three days after that, the new lawyer was dead.

Your hands were tied, your lips sealed, and you seemed to be the only one who knew the reason why these people were being killed and who was killing them.

* * *

Being so close to the case, you found out about the new lawyer’s death almost immediately. In fact, you happened to be in Detective Clark’s office when he got the call about a new body. Wanting to help as much as you could (if you could even help at all), you snuck your way into his car, riding along to the lawyer’s house. 

Trenton Blake, a fresh from law school young man, had been found practically face down in his breakfast. He had died all of a sudden while sitting at his breakfast bar in his kitchen.

His roommate was the one who found him, a pretty girl by the name of Amanda.

“So nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday or last night?” Detective Clark asked her, and the girl sniffed as she shook her head solemnly. You were sitting with them in the living room, your chair giving you full view of the entire apartment, from the interview to the dead body. There were medical people attending to the body, taking the liver temperature and collecting samples of the food in Blake’s vicinity. 

As the detective continued his interview, a couple more men entered the house. They were both very tall and handsome in their suits and dark coats. The taller of the two had long hair that framed his face nicely while the other’s hair was shorter, his eyes a piercing green. They gave the room a once over, assessing quickly that Detective Clark was the one in charge.

They stepped up to him politely, but held out badges for him to see. “Agents Elliot and Savage,” the shorter man said, taking Clark’s hand to shake. “We’re here to help.”

The taller man – was he Elliot or Savage? – headed over to the body, while the shorter one joined in on the interview questions. You watched the strangers closely – yours was a small town and you had at least seen everyone here or there. These guys were new, definitely not from around here.

You didn’t notice the green man’s eyes on you, a questioning look on his face, as you watched Trenton Blake’s body being taken out of the room. 


	6. Chapter Five

Sam and Dean changed out of their fed clothes and headed to the local diner, eager for some dinner before getting back to the motel and hitting the books for the night. They had spent about an hour at the most recent crime scene, Trenton Blake’s house, and then another hour at the police station waiting for the coroner’s report.

Similar to the previous bodies, there was no sign of foul play and nothing that suggested any cause or reason for death.

Dean walked in to the diner, snagging a booth near the door. Sam sat across from him, grabbing a menu and perusing it while a waitress sauntered up to them. She was mid-40’s, attractive, and Dean decided to give her a little of his Winchester charm.

“Hey there…” he looked at her nametag pinned to her breast, “Minnie. What’s the special here?”

Dean half listened as Minnie explained their popular items, smiling and nodding in all the right places. One mention of a bacon cheddar cheeseburger, and he was decided.

“Sammy?” he encouraged, listening as his brother ordered a chicken salad of some kind.

When Minnie had left their table, a wink and a smile later, Sam brought out his notebook. “Okay, so no obvious cause of death. No marks, nothing on the tox screen.”

Dean nodded his head, brain whirring. “So that takes out werewolves, vamps, all the normal slash or bite kind of monsters.”

Minnie came back with their drinks, setting them on the table slowly and watching as Dean paid her a little attention. She patted his shoulder as she left, earning an eye roll from Sam.

“What, I’m not allowed to have a bit of flirty fun?” Dean demanded, chugging some of his drink.

“Whatever, Dean,” was all Sam said in reply, obviously tallying up a list of possible monsters in his head. Dean looked around the room as Sam made some scribbles in his notebook, thinking back to the crime scene.

“Hey, so what do you think that chick was doing there – detective-in-training or something? She was hot,” Dean commented, mind going back to the crime scene from earlier. He remembered how nobody in the room paid you any mind, so you obviously allowed to be there, and were probably there to observe.

“Huh?” Sam asked, thoughts on his notebook.

“The chick, the girl that was sitting in the chair in the corner of the living room at the house,” Dean clarified. “You know, light-ish brown hair, jeans and a blue button-up. Obviously not one of the cops, but they let her hang around…”

Sam looked up at his brother for a minute, mulling over the description. “Sorry, dude, I don’t remember seeing her. No idea.”

Dean shrugged, knowing that Sam had been preoccupied with the dead body, and usually didn’t pay much attention to the hot chicks like Dean did. “Whatever. She was there, and wasn’t too bad to look at, either.”

He knew that he had lost Sam again when there was no response, just some scribbling on his notebook. Dean looked around the diner, tapping a rhythm out on the table.

He watched as his burger and Sam’s salad appeared in the window to the kitchen, his stomach making an appreciative noise at the view. A jingle of bells signaled that the door of the diner opened, and he looked over.

There you were, walking in and past a couple who was standing near the door waiting for an open table. You walked right up and behind the counter, heading to the kitchen window. Dean watched as you looked at the food lined up: his burger, Sam’s salad, a sandwich of some kind, and a bowl of chili. You tapped your finger to your chin, thinking about something, before grabbing Dean’s burger.

He sat up, eager for you to bring him his food and get to meet you. “Well, Sammy, it’s our lucky day. She’s here, and she’s coming over!”

Sam, once again, merely grunted in response, dragging his laptop out of his bag to look something up.

Dean watched as you gathered his plate, a fork and napkin, and a bottle of ketchup. You strolled back around the counter, pausing to look back at the other food sitting there before continuing your walk.

To Dean’s surprise, you kept walking right by his booth and to a table on the other side of the diner, sitting directly next to an elderly couple and setting the plate down. Dean watched as you poured some ketchup out of the bottle, dipping one of his fries into it and eating it. Your eyes closed as you tasted the food, and Dean could practically hear your moan of satisfaction from where he was sitting.

“Dude, she took my food!” he whispered loudly to Sam, still watching you as you picked up his bacon cheddar cheeseburger and took a huge bite.

Not knowing what to do, he turned back to face Sam, slumping in his seat like a child who got his candy taken away. That was the moment when Minnie arrived, carrying Sam’s plate. “Here you go, sugar,” she said to him, setting it down and putting his silverware next to his plate. Sam nodded in thanks, halfway paying attention as he picked up the dressing to drizzle it on his food.

Minnie turned to Dean, smiling brightly. “Your burger will be right out, hun,” she told him, nodding. She turned to walk away, and Dean grumbled after her.

“Yeah, it would have been out already, but that chick stole my burger and is eating it herself!”

Sam looked up at Dean, a bite of salad in his mouth. “What are you talking about, dude?”

Dean gave him an irritated look, rolling his eyes. “Nothing. The chick from earlier stole my food, that’s all.”

Sam didn’t press further, instead launching into an explanation of all of the monsters that they could be dealing with, and listing the things they’d need to investigate further. In just a minute, Dean’s food came out, allowing him to occupy himself with his delicious burger.

He was halfway done with it when he saw you stand out of the corner of his eye, having finished your own stolen burger. He watched as you picked up your empty plate and napkin, walking it back toward the kitchen.

Having been annoyed by you and your food-stealing, Dean spoke as you went by. “You know, sweetheart, it’s not very nice for a pretty girl to steal someone’s food when they’ve been waiting, instead of ordering her own.”

He knew he spoke loud enough for you to hear, but you didn’t stop, didn’t even look over at him. Appalled that you wouldn’t even look his way, Dean’s mouth hung open, dumbfounded.

“Who you talking to?” Sam asked, seeing his brother’s annoyed face.

Dean gestured toward you, now emptying your plate into the trashcan and putting your dirty dishes on the rack behind the counter to be cleaned. “Chica over there from the crime scene, the one who stole and ate my dinner!” he exclaimed, pointing at you.

Sam turned, looking to where Dean was pointing. “Who?”

“Blue shirt, brownish hair. I already said this, dude.”

Sam looked back over at Dean, confused. “Minnie’s wearing a red shirt, Dean.”

“Not Minnie!” Dean replied, exasperated. You headed toward the door of the diner. He pointed again. “Blue shirt! She’s leaving and she didn’t even pay!”

Sam turned around in the booth, looking at the door. Dean watched as you opened it, stepping outside and taking a deep breath. Sam turned back around, a confused look still on his face.

“Here,” Dean said, pulling his cell phone out. Through the window, he snapped a picture of you standing there, looking out onto the street. He had to admit, you made a pretty picture in his phone, and he wasn’t planning on deleting it any time soon. 

You started walking away, so Dean turned back to Sam, holding his phone out. “This girl.”

Sam looked back and forth from Dean to the picture, eyebrows scrunched. “Dean,” he said calmly. “There’s no one in this picture, it’s just the street outside.”

Dean’s face matched Sam’s, confused. “What?”

He pulled the phone back, looking at the screen. Sure enough, you were there: standing with your hands in your back pockets, setting sunlight making your hair glow around your face. Dean held the phone so both he and Sam could see the screen.

He pointed at your face. “Face here…” moved his finger to your torso, “blue shirt, button up…” moved his finger toward your butt, “hands in her back pockets.”

Sam’s eyes followed Dean’s fingers, shaking his head slowly. “Dean, I don’t see anything but the street and curb. You’re seeing a girl that I cannot see.”

They were silent for a moment, staring at each other for answers neither of them had.

Finally, Dean spoke. “I think we have our prime suspect, then.”


	7. Chapter Six

By the time the boys put money down and left the diner, you were nowhere to be found. Not that Sam could see you anyways, but Dean didn’t see you standing or walking anywhere along the street.

There was a moment there when he thought maybe he was going crazy, that you didn’t really exist, but if he was crazy, then what was he seeing in the picture he took and who ate his burger?

They headed back to their motel room and Sam uploaded the picture Dean took from his phone onto his laptop. 

As Sam got started working on the picture, he sent a mental prayer to Castiel, asking the angel to stop in for a visit. He was pleased when a just few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

Dean answered. “Cas! Good to see you, man,” he said as he stepped aside, letting Castiel into the room. “What brings you about?”

Castiel stood there awkwardly, not answering as he looked to Sam for guidance. Dean glanced between the two of them, before realizing that his brother had called for angel back-up.

He threw his hands into the air in frustration. “What, you don’t see this chick and you call in Cas to make sure that I’m not cuckoo for cocoa puffs?”

Sam shrugged, sitting back in his chair and speaking to Cas instead of answering Dean. “Can you make sure that he’s not spelled or something? He’s claiming to have seen this girl at the crime scene and again at the diner, and he took this picture,” he held Dean’s phone out to Castiel so he could see it, “claiming there’s a girl there.”

Castiel examined the image on the phone screen, eyes scrunched in concentration. “I see no woman in this picture, Dean,” he said stoically, handing the phone back to Sam before turning to Dean. “Allow me.”

Dean threw his head back in annoyance with a groan before he sat down on the bed. “Don’t wanna fall over if you do something funny to me…” he explained before tilting his head upward in some sort of offering.

Castiel placed his palms on Dean’s temples, closing his eyes as he examined Dean’s mind. A moment went by before he stepped away. “I see nothing wrong with Dean’s mind – no spell or trick has been used on him. There must be some other explanation.” He picked up Dean’s phone again, looking at the screen a second time to see if something had changed.

Dean stood, brushing non-existent dirt off of his clothes as he did so. “Yeah, I told you. I’m not crazy. Chick ate my burger.”

Sam shook his head, turning back to his computer screen where he had uploaded the picture. “Okay Dean, we believe you. She ate your cheeseburger. Thanks for checking, Cas.”

Cas nodded, heading back toward the door. “Anytime. Is there anything further that you need?”

“Nope, that’s it,” Dean spoke first, sending a glare to Sam. “We’ll let you know if there’s something else we can’t handle.”

Castiel nodded again, heading out of the motel room and back to wherever he was before Sam interrupted his day. With one more glare from Dean to Sam, the boys got comfortable, moving into research mode.

Sam spent almost an hour analyzing the picture down to the pixels, but was unable to detect anything abnormal about it. There were no reflections or hazy pixels that suggested the image had been tampered with or altered.

While Sam was working on that, Dean starting making a list of creatures who could become invisible or couldn’t be captured on film.

It could be some sort of ghost, one that Dean was able to see but Sam wasn’t. Reaper was a possibility, but it would be strange for Dean to see a reaper if he wasn’t about to die, and the same thing kept banshee on the maybe/maybe-not list. You could be a fairy or a zanna, shown only to Dean for some reason or another. He added shojo to the list, but wasn’t convinced of that one – he wasn’t drunk, after all. 

The option on the top of Dean’s list was a rakshasa, so he circled it a few times once he had gone over everything he could think of. Shapeshifter who can make themselves invisible? Pretty girl who no one else can see? Pretty convincing conclusion, Dean deemed.

Finally Sam gave up with a huff. “Nothing on this picture, Dean.” He tilted the laptop screen toward his brother and Dean saw the image of you. 

“Well, I still see her. So here we are.”

Dean stood from the bed, bringing his notepad list to the table by Sam and dropping it on the keyboard. Sam picked it up as Dean spoke.

“Here are the things we know of that can be invisible, or visible to only certain people.” He pointed as he listed them off. “Rakshasa is my number one choice, followed by ghost or reaper, fairy or zanna, or maybe a shojo…”

Sam nodded, contemplating Dean’s list with furrowed brow. He picked up a pen and added a few notes next to the monster list, how to kill each one and how to test for them. Most were the normal iron, salt, silver, or bronze tests, so it should be fairly easy to figure out.

Dean went to the mini-fridge and grabbed a couple beers, setting one on the table by Sam before opening the other one and taking a long drink. He landed back on the bed, enjoying the taste as Sam worked.

Finally Sam’s pen was traded for his beer and he leaned back in his chair. “So how are we supposed to find someone who you can see and I can’t?”

Dean shrugged. “I guess start at the diner in the morning?” he asked, wanting to start somewhere. “Oh, here!”

Dean stood, heading to the table. Setting the laptop screen, image of you still on it, in easy view, Dean picked up a blank notepad and pencil. “I’ll sketch her for you – maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to see her.”

Dean wasn’t the best artist, but having an image to copy right in front of him helped. After about ten minutes, he had a descent sketch drawing of your face and profile, which he handed over to his brother.

“She is pretty hot, man,” Sam admitted, looking at the sketch. “You sure you’re not just making up hot chicks in your head?”

Dean gave a dry ha-ha, knowing Sam was teasing him. “Dark blonde hair. Light eyes. Not much make up, that I could tell at least.”

Sam nodded. “Well, we should rest up so that tomorrow we can find your invisible girl.”

Dean rose quickly. “Dibs first shower.”

Sam’s eyes rolled in response, but he allowed Dean to head to the bathroom, pulling his laptop out to review the list once again before his turn.

* * *

Morning came and the boys headed for the diner. It was the last place you’d been seen, and Dean had a nagging feeling that you spent many of your meals there, with how comfortable you had seemed behind the counter. He kept his eyes peeled through the meal, while Sam typed away on his computer, sketch of you sitting next to him on the table.

When an hour had gone by, food come and gone, and nearly two pots of coffee drunk, Dean was ready to move on. Sam finally looked up from his computer.

“Hey, look at this,” he said, turning the laptop so that Dean could see the screen. “I uploaded the sketch you did to the facial recognition software I’ve got, and sent the image through as many databases as I could find. There were a few possible matches, see if these look familiar.”

Dean shook his head as Sam flipped through the pictures, not seeing your face on the screen.

“Okay, well here’s another search I did. I de-aged the image as best I could to a few different ages: 20, 15, 10, 5. Does this look close enough to your girl?”

Sam showed Dean a picture of 7-year-old you, the picture that your parents had given the police 20 years ago when you disappeared.

Dean scrunched his eyes, looking between the girl version of you and the picture of you on his phone screen that he took yesterday.

“Could be, Sammy. Why do you think that’s her?”

Sam nodded, clicking a few buttons on the screen. “I think it’s her because her parents reported her missing 20 years ago from a house just a few blocks away from here.”

Dean skimmed the report. “7-year-old, disappeared playing in her backyard. Parents not suspects, child not found.” He looked back at Sam. “If she wasn’t found, why would she be back as an adult? And she couldn’t have died and aged, could she?”

Sam half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Yeah, but if she’s a rakshasa, she could change her appearance anytime right? She could just age herself?”

Dean nodded. “Are rakshasas a thing that are born? Are this kid’s parents still there?”

Sam typed on the computer for a minute, looking up the driver’s licenses of your parents. “Yep, still there. Should we check it out?”

Dean nodded, standing and taking his last sip of coffee. “Let’s do it.”


	8. Chapter Seven

Sam and Dean walked up the sidewalk to your parents’ front door, looking sharp in their fed suits. Dean adjusted his tie a final time while Sam knocked strongly on the red wooden door.

Your mother answered, keeping the door slightly in front of her. “Can I help you?”

Sam nodded, reaching into his pocket to pull out his fake badge. “Yes ma’am, I’m Agent Elliot, this is my partner Agent Savage,” Sam motioned to Dean as he spoke, and they both held their badges out for your mom to see. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your daughter, Y/N.”

Your mom recoiled at your name, shocked and surprised that there were people asking about you. “Um, of course,” she said tentatively. “Please come in.”

She stepped back from the door, motioning for Sam and Dean to head into the living room. As they sat, she spoke again. “Allow me to go get my husband?”

Sam nodded, a tight-lipped smile on his face. Your mom disappeared into the back of the house, allowing the boys a moment to take in the room.

It was simple, with not a lot of pictures. In fact, there were only three pictures on the mantle and Dean stepped forward to take a closer look. One was of your parents on their wedding day, smiles bright and cheery. Another was of them holding a baby, presumably you, smiles bright and cheery. The last was the same image that Sam had found online – you at age 7, smile bright and cheery.

Your dad cleared his throat from the doorway, bringing Dean’s gaze away from the images and toward your parents, bright and cheery smiles no longer on their faces.

“I’m Richard Y/L/N. My wife says you have questions about Y/N?”

Your dad stood tall and confident, whereas your mother was drawn in on herself. Dean quickly recognized the stance of your father as someone on the defense, ready for a fight.

“Sir, it’s nice to meet you,” Dean said, walking over to Richard and offering his hand to shake. “We know that this is difficult, even after all these years, but we just have a few questions.”

Richard shook his hand and nodded, motioning for everyone to sit. Sam and Dean sat beside each other on one couch while your parents sat together across from them on the other.

Sam spoke next. “We have read the missing person’s report, but can you tell us in your own words what happened 20 years ago?”

Richard did all of the talking, explaining how you had gone out to play one afternoon and never come back. He told them about the police report, the extensive search for you, and the fact that after a few years, they had lost all hope. At this point, both of your parents just wanted closure.

“We have barely even set foot in Y/N’s room since that night, only to tidy up every once and a while,” your mom spoke softly when your dad was done, and Sam nodded.

“May I see her room, Mrs. Y/L/N?” Sam asked, matching her soft voice.

Your parents made eye contact before your mom nodded, standing to escort Sam to your room. He followed her up the stairs to your room, seeing that it was still fit for a 7-year-old girl. Dean and your father stayed in the living room. 

“May I ask why you’re so interested in my daughter’s case now, Agent?” Richard asked, giving Dean a hard glare.

Dean nodded, taking a minute to form the right words. “We have had a sighting of a potential match for your daughter here in town, sir. It’s always hard to tell, but with aging software, it’s possible that she’s back.”

A mix of emotions flashed across your father’s face, and Dean watched him carefully. Finally, the emotions landed on anger.

“My daughter is not here, you are wrong. How dare you come into my home and discuss my daughter, who is long dead. If she was here we would know – this town is not big enough for her to hide.”

A gasp sounded from the doorway, and Dean and Richard turned to see that Sam and your mom had returned. Instantly, your dad rushed across the room to catch your mom as she crumpled into tears in his arms, memories and pain overcoming her.

Sam and Dean met each other’s eyes, knowing that neither of them could see any trace of you here in the house. 

Sam turned to your parents. “We apologize for bringing up these horrible feelings, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Neither of your parents responded as the boys walked to the front door, sparing one last glance around the house before heading out. They stopped on the front porch, still able to hear your mom’s sobs.

“That was all real, man,” Dean said softly, and Sam nodded in agreement. Your parents really didn’t know where you were and most likely were not rakshasas. 

As the two of them headed down the sidewalk to the car, Dean looked across the street. There you were standing, staring toward them with a confused look on your face. 

_Why were the same federal agents from the crime scene yesterday at your parents’ house today?_ you thought to yourself, not noticing that Dean was staring right at you as you were lost in your thoughts.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, walking quickly toward the street. You still didn’t notice him speaking to you – no one had spoken to you since you were a child. Dean looked both ways quickly before running across the street to where you were standing, grabbing your arm forcefully.

It was only at the moment he touched you that you looked into his eyes and saw him clearly looking into yours. You gasped, completely in shock.

You began to struggle, your mind finally catching up to the fact that a stranger had just grabbed you on the street, but Dean’s hand on your arm wouldn’t give. “You’re coming with me,” Dean said gruffly, yanking you behind him toward the car. You hit at Dean’s arm and chest as he dragged you in an attempt to get away, but it did no good. 

Finally Dean snapped out of his focus on you and looked back to his brother. Sam was staring at Dean with a crazy look on his face, confused. “What’s going on, Dean?” he asked.

Dean stopped when he got to the car, opposite side from Sam. “Found her, Sam, she’s right here.” He shook you as he said the word here, but to Sam it looked like Dean’s hand was merely grabbing air.

It wasn’t until you tried to pull away again, making Dean’s arm jerk awkwardly, that Sam realized he was actually holding on to something, or someone.

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket, tossing them to Sam. “You drive, I’m sitting in the back with her so she doesn’t disappear on us.”

Sam nodded and got in, watching through the rear-view mirror as Dean maneuvered the invisible you into the car and climbed in afterward. Hoping his brother wasn’t crazy, Sam drove away and toward the motel.

In the back seat, you sat shell-shocked, totally and utterly confused as to who this man was and how in the world he could see you.

* * *

Sam pulled the Impala up to the motel, putting her in park and shutting off the engine. He turned to look into the backseat, seeing Dean staring intensely at what Sam saw as thin air.

“Well?” Sam asked, wondering what happened next.

“Let’s go inside,” Dean said gruffly, grabbing your arm. You looked at him wide eyed, terribly confused and a bit scared. No one had spoken to you in twenty years, and now that someone was doing so, it was kind of frightening.

Dean opened the car door, pulling you across the seat so that you followed him out of the car. Sam held the motel room door open, waiting for Dean to throw you inside before closing and locking the door behind him.

Dean walked you over to the nearest bed – his bed – and sat you down on the edge, shoving you down a bit harder than necessary. You watched as he turned and dug through a duffel bag, pulling a flask and two knives out.

Immediately you recoiled, afraid that this stranger was about to hurt you – the first person to see you in twenty years and he was going to kill you?

You scooted up the bed, away from the men in front of you. “Hey, where are you going?” the one who could see you – Dean – said, but you kept moving away from him and the knives. You ended up with your back at the pillows and your knees tucked up against your chest. You wrapped your arms around your legs, pulling yourself into a little ball.

Dean sighed, looking over at the taller one – Sam – before he remembered that Sam hadn’t seen your reaction. Sam shrugged slightly, not knowing what he could do to help in the situation.

Slowly, Dean approached the bed, holding the knives in one hand and the flask in the other. You tucked your head down into your knees, but kept your eyes on Dean. He set the knives on the bed a few feet away from your feet, using his now free hand to open the flask.

For a moment you thought about lunging for a knife and running – Sam wouldn’t be able to stop you, since he couldn’t see you, right? – but you knew that Dean would catch you. You may be able to run fast and for a long time (thanks to all of your P.E. classes you ‘took’ in high school) but now there was someone who could actually see you and catch you.

_Holy crap, someone could see you._


	9. Chapter Eight

_Holy crap, someone could see you._

That was the thought sinking into your mind as Dean splashed whatever liquid was in the flask onto your forehead, some of it running down into your eyes. It didn’t burn, but it sure as hell startled you, making you jump and rub your face clean immediately. Dean watched you carefully as you moved, as if he expected something to happen, but you just stared right back at him once you stopped dripping.

He looked over his shoulder at Sam, recapping the flask and throwing it to the foot of the bed. He grabbed the silver colored knife, holding it steady in one hand as he grabbed your arm with the other.

“What are you doing?” you squealed, unable to escape from his grip once again. Dean didn’t reply as he slid your sleeve up, ignoring the punches you tried to land on the arm holding the knife, attempting to keep it away from you.

Very carefully, he pressed the knife to your skin before slicing a cut into your forearm, a couple inches long. You squirmed at the sting, but he pulled the knife away so soon after that so you stopped fighting. The two of you watched as blood bubbled out of the wound before Dean turned, grabbed the other knife – this one a bronze color – and did the same thing, a couple inches away from the first cut. After he watched the blood spill from that wound, he let go of you, shoulders slouched in defeat.

“Well?” Sam asked from across the room, and Dean turned toward him. 

“Grab me a towel, will you?” Dean said in response, and Sam tossed him a washcloth from the bathroom. Carefully and gently, Dean pressed the towel against the cuts on your arm, shocking you with how gentle he was after just making you bleed. When he had blotted the cuts until they stopped bleeding, he put the now reddish cloth to the side and looked up at your face.

You knew that he could tell you were confused and scared, and he sighed. “You’re human?” he asked simply, watching you for your reaction.

“What else would I be?” you counter-asked, confused.

Dean nodded, standing up and walking over to Sam. “No reaction to the holy water, and the silver and bronze knives just made her bleed like you or me. I don’t know man…”

Dean looked back your direction, hand scratching the back of his neck and hairline. Sam looked between Dean and the bed, not exactly where you were sitting but trying to follow Dean’s line of sight.

As the two of them stood silently, you released your legs and criss-crossed them, sitting up on the bed. “Who are you?” you asked Dean, “Why did you grab me and bring me here?”

Dean huffed a laugh at your questions, pulling a chair out from the small motel table and taking a seat while he spoke. “Have you been killing the people in town?”

“Oh my God,” you breathed, realizing that you finally had a way to tell the police about the witch. “You’re police! I know who’s killing people! I’ve been trying to help Detective Clark out – been leaving out reports and trying to help but no one can see me or see anything I write or leave out or whatever, they never have been able to ever since I was a kid-“

“Hey, Y/N – you’re name’s Y/N, right? – slow down,” Dean interrupted you, putting his hands up to stop your talking. You took a deep breath, surprised at yourself for babbling. 

_I guess that’s what happens the first time I’m able to talk to someone in twenty years, I just talk their ear off_ , you thought to yourself.

You nodded, answering Dean’s question. “Yes, my name is Y/N. How do you know that?”

Dean nodded back, glad that he was right. “We took your picture and de-aged it, finding your missing persons picture from when you were seven. That’s why we were at your parents’ house today, asking about you.”

He looked over at Sam, who was trying to piece together the one-sided conversation. “Sam here did all the work, actually, I just had to sketch you for him.”

Dean reached for a paper on the table, holding it up. There you were, black and white in pencil. You were slightly shocked that Dean had drawn such a good likeness, but he put it down before you could study it too hard. “My name is Dean, and this is my brother Sam. We’re not actually police, we’re just, ah, here for a job.”

You smiled. Brothers, that was nice. “Nice to meet you Dean. Tell Sam the same, please.”

Dean turned to Sam, repeating your words. “She says nice to meet you, man.”

Sam looked over to the end of the bed, not where you were sitting, and nodded, no friendliness in his gaze. “Dean, what’s going on here?” he asked, his tone of voice harsher than Dean’s.

“Oh, right,” Dean said, getting slightly more serious. “So Y/N, why can I see you but Sam can’t?”

You nodded at his question, so eager to explain your woes to someone who could actually listen. “I was cursed,” you started simply, unsure of whether he would believe you.

“There’s a witch in town?” Dean asked immediately, making Sam’s head jump up at the question, and surprising you.

“You believe in witches?” you asked him back, and he shrugged.

“I believe in a lot of things,” he answered vaguely. “What happened?”

Opening up to Dean was surprisingly easy. You told him about the night it happened – seven-year-old you wandering away from home and happening upon the witch’s house. The bright light, you going back home, your parents not seeing you. You brushed over the years of growing up, just telling him that you learned to take care of yourself fast.

“I was just living my life, normal and all – or as normal as I could – when I found Mr. Parker and the witch fighting in her living room one day. And then one after another, all those people were dying: Mr. Parker, his secretary, the guy from the retirement home, and then Trenton Blake. Like I said, I’ve been trying to get Detective Clark to look into the old broad, but no one ever notices things that I leave around.

“But I know it’s her, I just do. She’s got these little bags that she grounds things up into and gives to people, and they’re always found with the bodies.”

Dean stood, digging in his duffel bag once more. He held up a hex bag, showing it to you. “Like this?”

You looked at him wide-eyed, terrified of the thing in his hand but nodding. “Why do you have one?”

He tossed it back in his duffel, sitting back down. “That one is for protection. Hex bags can be used for all sorts of things, but it sounds like your witch friend is using them to kill people.”

“Witch friend?” Sam repeated, not having heard any of your story but only what Dean had said. He looked toward the bed suspiciously.

Dean shook his head at his brother, taking a few minutes to re-tell your life story to him. It was amazing to hear someone else with knowledge of you and your life talking about you, as you hadn’t heard someone say your name in a very, very long time.

“Hmph,” was all Sam said when Dean was done talking, and you could tell that he wasn’t sure what to make of you quite yet.

* * *

You stayed in the motel room with Sam and Dean that night, telling them all about the witch, the things you’d seen her do over the years, and where she lived. You drew a map of her house, with labels of where she kept her strange items and where her work desk was, piled with hex bag supplies.

You weren’t surprised when Sam didn’t notice your map – it was clearly written on the paper, but his eyes just jumped across the lines and words as if nothing was there. Dean was fascinated at the discovery, testing different things to see if his brother noticed. 

Sam grew tired of the games, soon getting onto his laptop and looking into the witch. He found all of the records of her case (you weren’t quite sure how he got into Mr. Parker and Trenton Blake’s files, let alone get all of the details of who was attempting to buy the land and move her out) and began digging, connecting all of the dots that you’d set out for him. 

You thought for a minute that he was looking for proof that you were lying or in on the killings, but everything you had said checked out.

You and Dean spoke for hours, your voice getting hoarse because it wasn’t used to so much talking, but you began to tell him all about your life. He was fascinated at the way you grew up, confiding in you about his own childhood. You learned quickly that they really weren’t police detectives, but were hunters.

Sam gave Dean a wary look when he told you about what they do, but Dean’s response was simple. “Nobody else can see, hear, or communicate with her, Sammy, so who’s she gonna tell our secrets to?”

Sam wasn’t completely convinced, but Dean was so excited to talk to you that he let it happen. 

Later in the evening, after Sam had gone to grab dinner for the three of you (and did not notice in the least when or how your food disappeared, just that it was there one minute and gone the next, with no answer as to why), a plan was made. The next morning, you’d take the boys to the witch’s house to figure out how to stop her.

“And maybe,” Dean said with a smile in your direction, “she can lift that curse.”


	10. Chapter Nine

You hadn’t let yourself dream of being visible again since you were a child. The inkling of a possibility that the witch could lift your curse kept you awake all night long, even when Dean offered you his motel bed to sleep in and he stretched out on the couch. 

Your wide eyes stared up at the ceiling, watching the lights of cars on the street flash across the ceiling as they passed, hours going by. 

It was overwhelming, after all of the years alone, to be with someone who saw you. Someone who talked to you, who could listen. You’d forgotten what it was like, having a conversation. At least, a two-sided conversation. It was nice, and a bubbly feeling was rising in your stomach. 

Maybe tomorrow, Sam would be able to see you, too.

* * *

You must have fallen asleep at some point, because Dean was shaking you awake at eight o’clock. You jumped, terrified at the feeling of someone waking you up. Without thinking straight, your arm flung out in defense, hitting Dean hard on his ear and making him jump back.

“Ow!” he hollered, holding his face. “What was that for?”

You looked at him, wide eyed and suddenly remembering everything that had happened in the last 16 hours or so. “I’m so sorry!” you apologized, sitting up. “It’s just that no one has woken me up in the past twenty years – you startled me.”

Sam stuck his head out of the bathroom, looking at Dean and seemingly ready to jump into action. “What’s wrong? She trying to get away?”

Dean laughed, shaking his head as he stretched his jaw. “Nah, man. I just scared her is all.”

You stood, stretching up on your toes to wake up your body, reaching your hands to the ceiling. Dean’s eyes were on you the whole time, and you looked at him curiously. “What?” you asked him, suddenly self-conscious of the way you looked.

“Nothin,” he replied, turning to grab his jacket. “Ready to go?”

You stepped toward the bathroom, side-stepping as Sam nearly barreled into you unknowingly. “Let me freshen up just a bit – do you mind if we stop for a change of clothes on the way?”

“Works for me,” Dean replied, and you went into the bathroom. You closed the door, taking care of business quickly before coming out again. You found the boys waiting for you, Dean looking over as the door opened.

“You really didn’t notice the bathroom door closing and then opening again?” he asked Sam, who looked over at the bathroom – straight through you – and shrugged.

“No, I didn’t.” The scrunch of his eyebrows told you that Sam was not happy about the situation, not being aware of someone in his presence.

“Tell him sorry, Dean,” you said, heading to the door of the motel room and opening it. Dean repeated your words, motioning Sam out the door first, Sam only moving once he realized it was already open for him.

The three of you piled into the Impala, this time with Dean driving and you in the back by yourself. You sat forward in the seat, resting your arms between Sam and Dean’s shoulders and giving directions to Mrs. Childress’s house. 

Dean laughed a couple times when your hand pointed to the right, only an inch or so away from Sam’s nose. Sam swatted at the air once you pulled your hand away, quickly catching on to the game you were playing when Dean laughed.

Dean stopped in front of the large house, getting out of the car when you did. “You don’t need to come in, I’ll be less than ten minutes.”

“Can I trust you, Y/N?” he asked you seriously, and you saw Sam roll the window down to try to listen to the conversation he couldn’t actually hear.

You turned to face Dean, looking over the car at him. “I would hope so, Dean. You’re the first person to see me in twenty years, I don’t think you’re getting rid of me this soon.”

You waited for him to nod at your reply before turning and running up the steps, heading in to the house to change. You found a clean set of clothes in the room you had been staying in, changing quickly before packing your small duffel bag. 

If the witch reversed the spell today, you probably shouldn’t come back to break into Mrs. Childress’s house and get your clothes. If she didn’t reverse it…

You didn’t want to think about that. Your hopes had gotten up, and you were going to be optimistic.

In less than ten minutes, like you promised, you were back outside, locking Mrs. Childress’s house back up. Dean smiled as you came down the steps, looking curiously at the bag in your hand.

You raised it as you spoke. “All my worldly possessions – don’t you go running off with them, now, you hear?”

Dean nodded, climbing back in the car as you did. Once again you gave him directions to the witch’s house, not messing with Sam quite as much on this drive. You took the car as close to her house as you could, not wanting to take them down the dirt road and warn the witch that you were coming.

Dean stopped where you suggested, turning the car off and getting out. He and Sam headed for the trunk, propping it open with a rifle. Your eyes widened as you saw what was inside – weapons of all shapes and sizes: guns, knives, and was that a grenade launcher?

Sam and Dean grabbed a few choice items, tucking them various places on their persons. Dean loaded his gun with different bullets, “Witch killing bullets,” he explained, putting the ivory-gripped piece into the back of his pants. Sam picked up a glass jar filled with something, putting it carefully into his pocket before stepping back.

Dean closed the trunk, turning to you. “Lead the way, Y/N,” he said, hand outstretched to the dirt road. You nodded, heading for the house.

You’d walked down this road hundreds of times in your life, but this time it felt different. First of all you were being followed by someone who could actually see you, and second of all you were finally going to deal with this witch.

You weren’t exactly sure _how_ Sam and Dean were planning on dealing with the witch, but you trusted them.

You got to the final curve of the road and stopped, seeing Sam and Dean about fifteen paces behind you, talking softly amongst themselves. Sam looked concerned, but Dean looked excited. You were beginning to think those were their normal personality traits with how often they showed those emotions.

“It’s right around this bend, Dean,” you called out, pointing. “There’s a short driveway, then a path to her front porch. If we want to go through the back, I’d suggest cutting through the trees there.” You pointed off to the side, a barely-there path leading off the road.

Dean repeated your words to Sam, and they debated for a minute. Finally they decided on the back way and you stepped forward to lead the way once again.

Dean followed you closely, Sam right behind him. Just a couple minutes of stomping through bushes and trees had the three of you crouched down, eyes on the witch’s house. 

“Y/N,” Dean said quietly, “stay here. We’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

You shot him a confused look, but he and Sam had already sprung into action. You watched as they maneuvered themselves across the yard and into the house, the ease of their actions clear that this was not the first time they’d broken in to a house before.

You waited all of about thirty seconds, hiding in the bushes, before you realized how ridiculous you were being. For years you’d been hanging around the witch’s house, invisible and unnoticed – why were you hiding behind some bushes now?

You stood up, heading across the lawn. Instead of going in the back door, like the boys had, you went around the front, peeking into windows as you passed them. You heard some commotion inside, so you sped your steps slightly, opening the front door and heading in.

You made your way to the witch’s work room/study/main room – whatever it should be called. There you saw her with one hand up, holding Sam against the far wall with some invisible force, while Dean was struggling to reach for his gun on the floor. For a moment you panicked, before you (once again) remembered that Dean was the only one in the room who could see you.

You walked right through the middle of the room and over to the fireplace, grabbed one of the iron tools from their rack, and walked up behind the witch, hitting her in the back of the head with it.

She slumped to the ground, Sam falling to his feet at the same time. Dean looked up at you, surprise on his face.

“What happened?” Sam asked, moving over and crouching down by the witch.

“Nice swing, Y/N,” Dean said at the same time, catching Sam’s attention. He looked at Dean and then back at the witch, checking her pulse as he kneeled there.

You smiled at Dean, glad you could help. As carefully as possible, you slipped the iron rod onto Sam’s knee, balancing it between his leg and his hand. You stepped back once it was settled, Dean watching you.

Once you were a few paces away from Sam, he looked down at his lap, seeing the bar there. “What the-“ he started, grabbing it and holding it up.

“Present from Y/N, dude,” Dean said, coming over and hoisting the witch up and into a chair, beginning to tie her there. Sam looked at the rod curiously, then glanced around the room.

“Um, nice job, Y/N?” he complimented, unsure of what he was supposed to do and still a bit startled that you gave him your weapon unnoticed.

Dean finished tying the witch up and the boys began poking around her room, passing the time waiting for her to wake up so she could talk. As they searched, you watched their meticulous but casual movements, interested as they found hex bags of all sorts and threw each one of them into the fire.

You sat, spending the waiting time hoping that the witch would wake and your invisible life would be over.


	11. Chapter Ten

After what seemed to you like hours of waiting, but was really just ten or so minutes, the witch began to stir. Both Sam and Dean moved to stand in front of her, ready to either talk or fight, whichever was more pressing.

You stood from your chair, moving next to Dean. He looked your way for a half-second, nodding at your presence, which Sam didn’t notice.

The witch’s eyes slowly opened, face scrunching in anger when she noticed that she was tied up and surrounded.

“Curses on you!” she screamed, yowling like a cat. 

“Enough!” Sam yelled back, splashing something on the witch that made her tremble. You watched a bit of smoke rise from the witch’s skin, Sam explaining to the room. “A little concoction of my own, witch. You’re going to stop killing people, or we’re going to take care of you ourselves.”

“I will never leave my home!” she screamed. “Those maggots, trying to kick me out. This has been my home, my land, for a hundred years! No one comes into my house without my allowance, no one!”

“Well, we did,” Dean said cheekily, making the witch scowl. “And we have a friend here who did as well, right Y/N?”

Dean turned toward you, and you smiled at him, glad that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

“Y/N?” the witch asked, thoughtful look on her face. “Little girl, twenty or so years ago? Parents thought she went missing, oh yes they did. But she came to my house, threatened me, so I cursed her!”

“I did not threaten you, witch! I was seven years old and playing!” you protested, Dean the only one who could hear you.

“She didn’t threaten you, you old woman, she was just a kid,” he repeated, splashing her with the liquid again. “Lift the curse you put on her!”

The witch laughed, somewhat gleeful. “So you can see her, can you?” Dean nodded, looking your way again. “How curious. I made that curse myself, mixed a few of my favorite things together to make it. Nobody should be able to see her – nobody at all…”

The witch distracted herself with her mind, mumbling unintelligibly as you and Dean met eyes. If she’s the one who placed the curse on you and says no one should be able to see you, how is Dean able to?

Dean broke eye contact, looking back at the witch. “Lift the curse,” he said again, more threateningly this time.

She cackled. “I can’t! What’s done is done.”

“Liar!” Dean yelled, splashing her with more liquid and making her scream. She struggled against her restraints as her skin burned, so much so that the chair toppled over. Sam and Dean hadn’t counted on her rickety chair being so feeble when they tied her to it; it crumbled to pieces with the fall.

The witch got one hand free, lifting it and flinging Dean across the room. Before she could turn on Sam, he raised his gun and fired, bullet lodging itself in the center of her forehead and killing her instantly.

* * *

You were shell-shocked and silent as you accompanied Sam and Dean back to the car after they took care of the witch’s body. All three of you had arms laden with books and spell ingredients, having raided the witch’s house for anything the boys thought might be useful to them later. Sam had wanted to take every last book from the witch’s library but Dean made him cut it down to only the ones that looked original, many of them full of hand-written notes by the witch herself.

You helped slightly with the books, having read most of them yourself. You knew which ones were just regular cookbooks, some written in other languages to make them seem like they were spellbooks, and which ones were the real deal. You also knew which ones the witch used the most often, and made sure to grab those.

The three of you packed up the trunk before piling in the car, driving back to the motel room. Sam and Dean put their stuff in their duffel bags, checking out before loading the car with that stuff too.

You stayed quiet all the while, mind whirring. There was no counter-spell. The witch was dead. You were still invisible. And she had said nobody should be able to see you? But Dean could. Why?

You got in the car with the boys again, not even really paying attention to what was happening. Dean drove to the diner and the three of you sat in a booth. You slid in next to Dean, eyes wandering the room.

You saw people you knew, people you’d been watching your entire life, people whose houses you’d crashed in or whose food you’d eaten. All these people surrounding you, your whole life, and you knew them each fairly well, when they had all but forgotten about you. 

You looked over at Sam, who you were sure was still skeptical about you. He was a good man, a stranger, but you knew that he was smart. Who knows if you’d ever really get to meet him, if he’d ever actually be able to see you.

You had placed so much hope in the witch being able to lift the curse, you hadn’t even thought about what would happen if she didn’t.

Dean bumped your shoulder, pulling you out of your melancholy. “For the first time in a very long time,” he said, “someone else will order your food for you. Whatcha want?”

You stared at him, his bright green eyes smiling at you even though his face wasn’t. How wonderful he had been through all of this already, and here he was still being incredibly nice?

“Whatever you’re having, I suppose,” you replied, looking down at your hands. You felt, rather than saw, Dean nod beside you, not listening as someone came over to take their order. If the waitress thought it was odd that three meals were ordered instead of two, nothing was said of it.

Sam and Dean began talking, but you weren’t really listening. You were too busy thinking about how everything was going to go back to the same: Sam and Dean would leave and you’d be here, in your town, forever alone. It had never bothered you before now, really, but you were bothered by the thought of being alone now.

The food came and you picked at it, Dean having ordered the same bacon cheddar cheeseburger as before for both of you. When he was finished with his burger and you had barely taken a bite of your own, he nudged you again.

“What’s wrong?”

You looked at him, surprised that he was asking. You shrugged. “Guess I’m just disappointed,” you replied. “Not cured, and all.”

A look of realization hit Dean, and he looked across the table at Sam. They had some sort of silent conversation for a minute before he turned back to you. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the counter-spell.”

You scrunched your eyebrows at him, confused. “The witch made the spell herself, said there was no counter-spell. She didn’t even know why you could see me. How do you think you’ll be able to figure it out – you’re not a witch.”

Dean smiled. “Sammy and I may not be witches, but we know how to read a spell book, Sam’s performed plenty of spells before, and we may or may not have friends in high – and low – places.”

You were silent for a moment, thinking over his words. Finally you spoke again. “Okay, well, you know where to find me if you figure it out, I guess.”

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” Dean immediately grunted. He put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him. “You’re coming with us.”

You looked over at Sam, shocked. He didn’t look completely happy about the situation, but you could tell that there was an underlying worry in his face. Was that worry for you or for Dean? You could only imagine what Dean looked like to Sam at the moment, his arm wrapped around thin air.

You looked back up at Dean, his smile contagious and making you respond in kind. “Okay then.”

When you all finished lunch, Dean indulged you in driving you to a few places in the town to say goodbye – you stopped by the park where the stray dogs hung out, patting each on the head (even if they didn’t really notice it) and leaving some scraps of food around; you went to the church and lit a candle, sending a prayer to whoever was listening that your town would be safe; you went to your parents’ house, looking in the window at the two of them sitting on the couch, reading together.

Finally you were ready to go, having said goodbye to your town. It was strange to be leaving, but in the end you came to one compelling conclusion of why you needed to go.

Dean Winchester could see you and you wanted to be seen.


	12. Chapter Eleven

You lounged in the back of the Impala as Dean drove back to their home – a place they called the Bunker. You had absolutely no idea what to expect, but you supposed you’d stayed in stranger places throughout your life, so you just went with it. 

At the Bunker, Dean promised you your own room, your own bathroom, a huge library of books, and a fully stocked kitchen that you could use at your leisure. You’d never had all of those things in one place, so you were hesitantly looking forward to it.

Dean kept glancing back at you as he drove, smiling softly when he saw you sitting or laying in the back seat. It was almost as if he expected you to disappear on him, something that you didn’t blame him for. Sam looked back periodically as well, perhaps hoping that he would get a glimpse of you if the sunlight hit the car just right. He never did focus on you though, and always ended up turning to the front soon enough.

Before nightfall Dean pulled the car off the highway, driving down a dirt road for a bit before heading into a garage that opened on the side of a hill. You sat up, excited to see the place you’d be living in for the near future.

Sam and Dean climbed out of the car, opening the trunk and unloading. You grabbed your small duffle bag and followed Dean through a door, heading down a hallway with what seemed like a million doors.

Dean stopped at one of them, opening the door to room number 11 and throwing his own bag in. “This is my room,” he said to you, letting you peek in. The room was simple, but you could tell that it was Dean’s by the guns and other trinkets laying around. 

He pointed at another door, down the hall a bit. “That one’s Sam’s.” You nodded, hoping you could remember all of this, the seemingly millions of doors all looking just alike. “We’ll put you…” Dean opened a door two down from his, poked his head in, then closed it. “Not there,” he said laughing. You gave him an amused look as he opened another. “Um, nope.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he laughed. 

“Ah, nothing. We just haven’t cleaned all of these out, and some of them smell or are super dusty. And others don’t have their own bathrooms… I know there’s one around here that we’ve cleaned that would work…” Dean opened another door, the room directly across from his, room 12, and smiled. “Here’s one,” he announced, swinging the door wide.

You walked in, seeing the double bed: sheets, pillows, and blankets piled at the foot, a small dresser, and a desk and chair. You set your duffel on top of the dresser, turning back to Dean. “This is great, thanks Dean.”

He smiled at your approval, nodding. “Awesome.”

The two of you looked at each other for a minute before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, I’ll give you a bit of privacy to settle in, and then I’ll meet you in the library? Go down this hall, turn left, and just keep walking until you smell the old books.”

You chuckled at his directions, nodding. “Thanks, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Dean ducked his head your direction in somewhat of a nod as he pulled the door shut, giving you complete privacy. You looked around the room again, getting a feel for it. Maybe you’d be here for more than just a little while, if things went well.

You made your bed, shaking the sheets and blankets out to de-dust them before putting them in their place. You unpacked your four outfits – should you get more clothes, now that someone could see you? – and put them in the dresser, hanging your jacket in the small closet next to it.

You took your toiletries into the simple bathroom that was attached to the room, taking note of the stand-up shower and lack of curtain. You wouldn’t have worried about the no-curtain thing if it was just you and Dean wasn’t around, but now that there was someone who could walk in on you and actually _see_ you while you were in the shower…you should probably ask for a curtain.

Satisfied with your room, you headed out. You looked at the door once more, went through a mental mantra of “Room 12, Room 12, Room 12” so that you would hopefully remember, before heading down the hall. 

_Did Dean say turn right or left?_ You got to a cross roads in the hallway, looking both ways for any helpful sign of where to go. You were about to go right when you heard talking from the left, so you followed the voices. The talking grew louder, and you realized that Sam and Dean were discussing something.

“Dude, just trust me. I’m not crazy,” Dean was saying as you stepped into what was obviously the library.

“I’m not saying you’re crazy, I just asked him here to help, _again_ ,” Sam replied, seemingly exasperated with his brother. Dean’s back was toward you so you could see Sam’s face clearly, the worry evident in his brows. You looked over and noticed someone else in the room, a dark haired man wearing a trench coat.

You walked toward him, observing him carefully. Dean spoke from behind you, “Cas doesn’t have to come running every time you’re worried about me. She’s real, I promise.”

You turned toward them at that statement, realizing then that they were talking about you. Did Sam not want you here? Was Dean having to fight with his brother to keep you here?

“Sam, Dean,” the trench-coated man said, drawing the brothers’ eyes toward him, and ultimately in your direction. Before Dean could acknowledge your presence, the man spoke again. “I believe Y/N is here.”

Your head immediately jerked to look at the man, realizing that he had to have seen you. “Who are you?” you asked him, waiting for him to look your way.

He didn’t answer, but looked to Dean. “Is she in the room, Dean?”

You looked confused as you turned to Dean, taking a few steps back from this stranger. “Dean, who is this?” you asked again, realizing that the man couldn’t actually see you.

“Yes, she’s here,” Dean answered the man’s question, stepping toward you and putting his hand on your elbow in a sign of comfort. “Y/N, this is Castiel. He’s an angel.”

Your eyes traveled from Dean’s face to Castiel and back, not really believing what he said. “He’s a what?”

Dean gave you a half-smile, seeming to understand your shock. “An angel. Sam called him to come and check you out, see if he can help.”

You looked over at Castiel, seeing that he was watching Dean closely. You then looked at Sam, whose eyes were popping back and forth between Dean and Castiel. “Y/N, you can trust him,” Sam said to the room, just as Castiel began walking toward you and Dean.

A moment passed as you looked at Dean for support. “Okay, then,” you said, and Dean smiled. 

Castiel stopped right in front of the two of you, Dean’s hand still on your elbow. He tilted his head, eyes unfocused on anything but darting around the room like he was seeing many things. “It’s strange,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I know she’s here, I can feel her soul. Souls have an aura, they interact with the world and the people around them in many ways. Y/N’s soul is mingling with yours, Dean, but not with Sam’s. It’s as if Sam’s soul doesn’t recognize the existence of her soul at all.”

Castiel’s eyes moved to Sam, whose head was bowed as if he was ashamed. “It’s not your fault that your souls aren’t interacting, Sam – whatever spell was placed on her isn’t just a physical one, it’s truly soul-deep.”

“Y/N,” Castiel addressed you, “May I try something?”

He waited for your response, and you looked at Dean, a question in your eyes. “Like Sam said, Y/N, you can trust Cas. He won’t hurt you.” With that vote of confidence from Dean, you nodded. Dean turned to Castiel, “She says yes.”

Castiel nodded, raising his hands and reaching out. He didn’t move to touch you, but seemingly felt at the air in front of you, as if he knew that you were _just_ _there_. You felt a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach and jumped slightly, making Dean’s hand grip you tighter in comfort and protection. 

Castiel’s brow scrunched, one of his hands reaching farther out very slowly until it just barely touched your forehead. “Is that you?”

Dean replied for you. “Yea, that’s her forehead, dude.”

Castiel nodded, keeping his fingertips on your forehead as he closed his eyes. You stood completely still, wondering what the angel was doing.

The whole room was heavy with silence as you, Dean, and Sam watched Castiel carefully. The strange feeling in the pit of your stomach continued as Castiel touched your forehead, making you feel just a bit off. You were practically holding your breath at the suspense, wishing in the back of your mind that this angel would lift the spell right here and now.

Finally he pulled his hand away. You looked at Dean, who looked at Sam, who looked at Castiel.

Another tense moment of silence passed before Castiel’s eyes opened.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to do anything, your soul is blocked from even me.”


	13. Chapter Twelve

Castiel stayed at the bunker for just a bit longer after giving you the bad news that there wasn’t anything that he could do to reverse the curse or see you. The only positive thing that came from his visit was that Sam finally had reassurance that you were actually there, not a figment of Dean’s imagination, and that you were a good person. Castiel had assured the Winchesters that based on the brightness of your soul, you weren’t hiding any darkness in your past from them.

You thanked Castiel for his time, through Dean, before he left. He was very eager to visit with you in the future, but you knew that any and all time spent bonding with Castiel would be translated through Dean, so you weren’t too sure how often that would happen.

Within a week, you had completely settled in to life in the bunker with the Winchesters. Sam was pouring over the books that you had all taken from the witch’s house, trying to find anything that would help reverse the curse and learn anything else he could. Likewise, you were pouring over the books that were in the bunker library, reading anything and everything you could get your hands on.

You asked Sam for some book recommendations to start off with, as you were fascinated with this newfound supernatural world and the lore surrounding it, and wanted to learn as much as possible. He pulled a few books for you each morning and afternoon, starting you with the basic almanac-type books that had overviews of many different creatures before getting you into more specific books on how to hunt, kill, or cure.

Dean began teasing you and Sam for spending so much time together reading in the library, even though Sam didn’t actually realize how much time you were by his side. The only difference between yours and Sam’s reading habits was that while Dean could never get his brother to quit reading and take a break, you were eager to join Dean in doing other things besides reading as well.

It started as a ride into town for supplies the day after Castiel left. You hopped in the front seat of the Impala, going to the store with Dean and getting food that you could make for everyone. It was the least you could do to cook for the brothers, and Sam always _eventually_ noticed the food laid out on the table.

Then you’d join Dean in the shooting range, practicing alongside him. While you hadn’t learned to shoot a gun previously, you had enough knowledge and control over your body from all of your P.E. and health training that you picked it up quickly. Dean was impressed with you and within a few days had set aside a few weapons for you to call your own.

One morning you noticed that Sam was sitting by the door putting on his tennis shoes, and you ran to get Dean to ask Sam if you could join him on a run. Sam seemed skeptical that you could keep up with him, especially since he couldn’t see you and slow down when you needed him to, but you were up for the challenge.

You thought that Sam was taking it easy on his ten-mile run, and when the two of you returned to the bunker he asked Dean how you _really_ looked – were you tired and out of breath?

Dean began laughing at the situation, because while Sam was sitting there sipping Gatorade and doing his cool down routine, you were still jogging in place and making a few laps around the library tables, energy level completely fine.

Every morning after that Sam didn’t hold back on his running and you relished in the challenge of keeping up with him and his long strides.

You and Dean also went to the store to buy you some new clothes, which you’d never actually done before. He watched as you tried things on, actually seeking out his opinion, since he was the only one who would see you and judge you for what you were wearing. Luckily, you found that he liked you in many of the same outfits that you would have chosen for yourself: skinny (but comfortable) jeans, t-shirts with fun slogans or bands on them, and some sweaters and button up shirts. 

The best part about shopping with Dean, however, was his embarrassment of going to the register with nothing but women’s clothing, including underwear. The cashier did her best to keep a neutral face, but you spent the entire time she was ringing things up teasing Dean. “Bet she thinks these clothes are for you, Dean.” “She’s gonna tell all her friends here about the guy who was buying all the girl clothes.” “Maybe she thinks they’re for gifts for someone.” “I suppose they are a sort of gift, but I promise I’ll pay you back for them, somehow.”

As the two of you were walking out of the store he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you close, mumbling against your forehead, “You’re so obnoxious, Y/N…”

You could tell he loved it.

At night, when Sam was still reading through the witch’s books, making notes on potential spells and cures, you and Dean sat with him, drinking whiskey and talking about life. You were beginning to learn everything that had happened to the Winchesters, from losing their mom to meeting God. You couldn’t believe all the things they’d been through, and at a few points in Dean’s story you had to get up and give him a sympathetic hug. He would relax into your embrace, until he would say something cheeky that would make you pull away and slap him teasingly.

There was even one time where you got up to hug Sam, when Dean was telling you about the trials to close the gates of hell. You had been watching Sam as Dean was speaking, clearly able to hear and half-listening to the oral biography of their lives. You could tell that he was somewhat affected by the re-telling, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Dean watched as you rose, wrapping your arms around Sam’s shoulders and burying your face in his neck. 

“She’s hugging you, man,” Dean said to Sam, and for a minute you could feel Sam relax. Even though he couldn’t notice or see you there for him, the knowledge that you were trying to comfort him was enough to make Sam like you even more.

“Okay, okay, enough of that,” Dean said after a minute of you holding Sam, making you laugh and break the hug. Sam smiled, moving back to his books but looking much happier as Dean continued their story.

Some evenings, he listened as you talked. You didn’t have near the amount of amazing adventures to tell, but you talked to him about everything. Everything you could think of that could interest another human, everything you’d ever wanted to tell someone, everything that came to mind – Dean listened.

Dean listened, to _you_. And it was wonderful.

* * *

A week after you got to the bunker, the boys caught wind of a case. They packed up their things efficiently, proving to you how often they did this. It wasn’t until they were headed out to the garage that you said something.

“I’ll just stay here, then?” you asked, trying not to sound pathetic. Dean looked over at you sitting on one of the extra cars, watching as they loaded Baby.

“Oh, uhm, yea I guess,” Dean replied.

“What’s up?” Sam asked him, head in the trunk of the car.

Dean motioned to where you were sitting. “Y/N’s good to just stay here, right?”

Sam stood up straight, looking at Dean before glancing around the room, having no idea where exactly you were. “I think that’s probably better. We can leave you a cellphone, Y/N,” he offered, digging in the glove compartment for one. He pulled out an old model flip phone, making sure it turned on before he grabbed the charger from the glove box as well. He handed it to Dean. “We’ve got that number, and ours are programmed in there as well. Would…would I notice if you called me?”

You walked over to Dean, taking the phone and cord. “No, Sam wouldn’t notice. But I’m assuming we’d be able to talk, Dean.”

Dean translated to Sam as you thumbed through the phone, making sure you knew how it worked before they left. Sam got back to packing the car and Dean turned to look at you again. His hand rested on your wrist, pulling your attention from the phone to him.

“Text me whenever, darlin’,” he said sweetly. “And I might call you for some research back-up, it’d be nice to have someone here if we need to look something up in a book. Would you be alright with that?”

You smiled at his words, eager to help however you could. “Yeah, you know how much I like the books. I bet that’s all I’ll be doing while you’re gone anyways…”

Dean grinned back nodding. His hand was still on your wrist and his thumb started tracing circles there. “Awesome. And really – you call text me, call me, whenever. If I don’t answer, trust me that I’ll call you back as soon as I can. But the bunker is yours to explore while we’re gone, just be careful. There’s lots of stuff here we haven’t vetted yet, and I’d hate for you to get hurt when I’m not here to save you.”

Your smile softened at Dean’s worry for you and you blushed. “Sounds good, Dean. Just don’t be gone too long, okay? And maybe when you get back, you can start training me so that I can go with you guys sometime. Having an invisible girl around might be helpful, right?”

Dean’s eyes brightened at the idea and he nodded his head. “Oh yeah, when I get back we’re gonna get it on.” You watched his face as he realized his wording. “Get it on, like fighting, like I’m gonna teach you how to fight – we’ll spar…uh. Yeah.”

You and Sam both laughed, realizing that Dean had dug himself into a hole of embarrassment. You covered his hand on your wrist with your free one, standing on your tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Whatever you say, Dean,” you teased, before pulling from his grip and moving over to Sam.

You patted his shoulder twice, fairly hard, but he didn’t even flinch. “Adios, Sam. Good luck.”

You looked at Dean, “Translate for me, yeah?” You headed to the door of the garage that headed back toward the rooms, turning as Dean slapped Sam as hard as he could on his shoulder.

“Hey!” Sam yelled, trying to hit Dean back but Dean was too quick.

“Not from me, from Y/N!” Dean pointed your way, laughing. “She says adios and good luck.”

Sam’s head spun around the room, waving at thin air. “Bye, Y/N. Keep safe and we’ll see you soon. Er, Dean will see you soon.”

You stood in the doorway as you watched the boys get in the car, Dean pulling her out of the garage and down the road quickly. With a sigh, you turned into the bunker, heading to find a comfortable chair in the library and a book to lose yourself in.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The bunker was lonely with no one else around to talk to. It was an interesting feeling, going from twenty years of being ‘alone’, to spending just a couple weeks with Dean, able to talk to someone, then back to being by yourself. You chastised yourself for becoming so attached to him in such a short amount of time, but you supposed it was just human nature to want to be with people.

You spent most of your time while the boys were away in the library, reading up on what seemed like a million different creatures, absorbing as much information as you possibly could.

You also texted Dean.

A lot.

It was only a few hours after they had left when your new phone dinged for the first time. You had plugged it in, not knowing how the battery life would be, and left it sitting on a chair at the side of the room. You marked your place in your book at the noise and walked over to your phone, seeing a little envelope with Dean’s name next to it.

After a few wrong button presses, you finally got to the message.

_How’s it going in that big bunker all by yourself?_

You smiled, the idea of Dean checking in on you after such a short period of time making your stomach do a little flip.

You typed slowly, not being used to using a phone to type.

_Going good. Just reading so far. How’s the drive?_

Dean texted back almost immediately.

_Boring. You shoulda come to mess with Sammy when he couldn’t see. That would keep things interesting._

You laughed, glad that Dean found some benefit to having an invisible friend. He texted back before you could reply.

_Gotta go, Sam’s back from the bathroom and we’re pulling back on the highway. Talk to you later._

You realized that Dean had pulled out his phone to text you as they stopped somewhere, occupying his free time with you. It was a nice thought.

_Later, Dean._

You got back to your book, mind wandering every few pages as you thought of the green-eyed hunter who could see you.

* * *

It was only a four-day trip for the boys, the case not being too far from Lebanon and a pretty easy salt-and-burn. Dean called you when they were on their way home, asking if you could have food prepared for them for dinner, as they weren’t going to stop on their way back. You happily made a meatloaf, green beans, and a salad, setting it all to keep warm while you read in the library.

Dean ran into the bunker as soon as they got back, a huge grin on his face. “Y/N!” he called, and you stood to meet him. “It smells awesome in here!”

You smiled at Dean, completely taken aback when he walked right up to you and gathered you into an enormous hug, squeezing you tight before letting you go and turning for the kitchen. “What’s for grub?” he asked over his shoulder, and you followed him.

“Meatloaf and veggies,” you replied, watching from the doorway as Dean lifted the top off of the warming tray. He sighed a contented sigh at the aroma, and you were so entranced with watching Dean that you were startled as Sam bumped into your shoulder, walking through the doorway.

“Oh!” you said as you fell forward slightly, off balance. Dean turned to you as you were straightening up, seeing his brother standing a few feet in front of you.

“Watch where you’re going, dude,” Dean said, holding his hand toward you. “Y’ alright?”

“What are you talking about, Dean?” Sam asked at the same time that you smiled, nodding. “Fine, he just didn’t see me.”

Dean looked between you and his brother, brow furrowed. “This is just weird.”

Sam read the features on Dean’s face, realization dawning. “Y/N?” he asked the room, looking around. “Did I do something?”

“Yeah, you just nearly knocked her over. Just be a little less Sasquatch-y, and we should be good,” Dean replied, turning to grab a plate. “Now – food.”

Sam looked at the stove, seeing and smelling the food that you had prepared for the first time since he came in the kitchen. “Ah, that smells amazing!” he commented, smiling. “Y/N, you didn’t have to!”

You stepped up next to Dean, grabbing a plate of your own. “Tell him it’s no problem, I just hope he enjoys it.”

Dean translated, heading for the table to drop off his plate as he grabbed a round of beer for all of you. You sat next to Dean as Sam sat across, a warm feeling falling across the three of you as you ate.

“Tell me about the trip?” you requested to Dean. “You two can just talk it through, I’d just like to hear what you’ve been up to, besides texting me.”

Dean blushed a bit at your comment, before he looked at Sam. “Y/N wants us to talk her through our hunt, yeah?”

Sam smiled around the salad in his mouth, nodding. For the rest of the meal, they regaled you of their hunt, Sam’s details a bit more believable than Dean’s as Dean exaggerated their extravagant fight. You listened happily, eyes rarely leaving Dean’s expressive features as he spoke.

* * *

The next morning, you and Sam went out on your morning jog as you’d become accustomed to. As you were heading back to the bunker, Sam slowed to a walk, a pace which you met with confusion.

“Y/N?” he asked the empty air around him, but you didn’t bother replying. He realized instantly that he wouldn’t hear your response, continuing to speak. “Not sure if you’re there, hope you are.” Sam kept walking as he talked, gesturing around with his hands. “I had a thought – we have this friend. Well, she’s not really a friend, but in our line of work we don’t have many of those anyways…” Sam sighed, brushing the hair out of his face before he continued.

“Her name is Rowena. She’s a witch – not really a good witch, but not necessarily a bad one either… She kinda owes me a favor and I was thinking of taking her up on it. Maybe she could help you, lift your curse. I know that you and I have looked through the witch’s books and things, but another witch might be able to read into things that we wouldn’t even notice…”

Sam stopped speaking for a minute, letting you mull over what he was saying. He wants to bring in another witch, one that he’s friends-but-not-friends with, to maybe lift your curse? If an angel couldn’t lift the curse, would another witch be able to?

As the two of you rounded the last bend before the bunker, Sam stopped in his tracks and spoke again. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not, but I thought I’d like to get your permission to invite another stranger into your business after I kinda forced Cas on you. I guess…just let Dean know what you think about Rowena later, if you’re even here and listening…”

You watched as Sam looked on either side of him, his eyes glazing over your form as he didn’t see you. You smiled at his offer, thinking that you’d like to get Dean’s opinion as well before you decided what to tell Sam.

With that thought in your head, Sam’s demeanor changed. “Race you to the doors!” In an instant, he was off, but you were hot on his heels. He might have longer legs, but you’d been training yourself to run your entire life and you could definitely keep up with the giant. 

Little did he know that you beat him to the doors, sliding inside before he even got ten feet away.

* * *

“Dean?” you said as you knocked on his door. You heard some movement inside Dean’s room before he opened the door, smiling softly when he saw your face. “Can I talk to you?”

Dean opened his door further, waving his arm to invite you in. “What’s up, Y/N?”

You came in and leaned against his desk, watching as he debated whether to close the door behind you or not. He decided on leaving it cracked, only a few inches letting in the air from the hallway.

“Sam and I were talking this morning,” you started. Dean’s breath caught in his throat with excitement.

“What? You were talking?” he asked, thinking that you were telling him that Sam could see you.

“Oh, no…” you backtracked. “We were on our run, and he started talking to me. He didn’t even know if I was there, but he talked anyway. He told me about a not-friend of yours, Rowena?”

You watched the expressions on Dean’s face, going from understanding to anger to confusion to curiosity. “What about Rowena?” he finally asked, sitting on his bed.

“Sam said that she owes him a favor, and if I want him to, he’d call her to see if she can lift my curse.” You looked down at your hands, a lot of different thoughts rolling around in your brain. “He didn’t want to ask her here without my permission, citing my privacy and everything, but I don’t even know what to think. The only witch I’ve known in my life was the one who cursed me, and so I have no idea what I should say.”

You looked back up at Dean, seeing him watching you closely. “I wanted to get your opinion, as you know both me and Rowena, and you probably would have a better understanding and opinion of what could happen with the whole situation. And I trust you.”

Dean’s face was unreadable for a moment before he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “Trusting me isn’t always the smartest thing, darlin’,” he said first, standing up and starting to pace the room. “That being said, Sam’s idea is intriguing.”

He walked a lap before speaking again. “Rowena’s a sneak, but she makes good on her deals. Runs in the family, in fact,” Dean laughed, for a reason that you didn’t understand. “She is a very powerful witch, and a smart lady.”

Dean stopped, squaring his body back in your direction. “It could work, or it might not. The question is, do you want to try something again?”

You looked at Dean, realizing that he was merely throwing the decision back at you. You’d hoped that he would feel strongly one way or the other, but that didn’t seem to be the case. You sighed, weighing your options.

Possible cure or more of the same.

“Let’s call her.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

You left Dean’s room so that he could go talk to Sam, not feeling much like being around people anymore. You were still trying to get used to having someone who could see you, _talk_ to you, and you headed toward your bedroom for some much needed alone time.

It was strange, after all of these years of being alone, to suddenly not be alone anymore. Dean was wonderful – he was helping you more than you would have ever expected and it was so nice. Sam was being great as well, even though interaction with him wasn’t directly with you but rather through his brother, he was going out of his way to facilitate you being with them at the bunker.

You lay on your bed, flipping through the pages of a book you’d grabbed in the library. This one in particular was a record book, one that Sam had been using for the past few years. Upon exploring the bunker’s library, you had quickly realized that Sam was meticulous about keeping records, just as the Men of Letters had been when they lived in this bunker decades previously. He had taken it upon himself to log each case he and Dean had been on, even working on writing entries for some of the ones they did before they lived in the bunker.

You were looking for specific information as you flipped through the book: you were looking for information about Rowena. You figured it would be better to be over-prepared with a witch around, not knowing what exactly she could do. You’d spent years studying the witch who cursed you, so now you had a limited amount of time before Rowena would be here, potentially spelling, or de-spelling as it will, you.

The first entry you could find that mentioned Rowena was from just after Dean was cured of being a demon (something you made a mental note of to go back and learn more about from Sam’s journals – you were pretty sure Dean wouldn’t want to go into detail about that time in his life with you in person).

The notes about Rowena here were somewhat historical, Sam detailing specifically who she was. She’s centuries old, was a member of the Grand Coven of witches until she was thrown out, and is also the mother of the current King of Hell.

Those facts alone made your stomach twist in knots. You skimmed the logbook to look for other qualities of Rowena’s life, seeing that she had done some good and some bad toward and with the Winchesters. You saw that she was imperative in the removal of the Mark of Cain from Dean, but at what cost? If there were consequences anywhere near as dramatic as that was when Rowena lifts the curse on you, you wouldn’t do it. You didn’t want to bring any grief to anyone else just to become visible.

You kept reading, seeing that Rowena was killed but then resurrected, something you were quickly realizing happened more often than you expected. She flip-flopped back and forth with the Darkness, before ultimately becoming somewhat of an ally to the boys.

With a sigh, you closed the logbook, too much information twirling in your mind. You fell asleep on your bed, dreaming of nothing.

* * *

Dean knocked on your door a few hours later, waking you. You sat up, feeling completely refreshed as Dean opened your door, head peeking in.

“Did I wake you?” he asked softly, and you nodded, smiling at his meekness.

“That’s alright, I just dozed off after reading up on some stuff…” you motioned him to come in, standing to move the logbook to your desk. Dean peeked over at the book to see what you had been reading, looking back at you with a question in his eyes.

“Reading up on us?” he teased you. “You know you could just talk to me.”

You smiled, nodding again. “I know, but I was just looking for some information about Rowena. Wanted to know what to expect, that’s all.”

Understanding dawned on Dean’s face, and he leaned against the desk. “I get that. She’s an interesting lady, let’s say, and we can leave it at that. She’ll be here soon, which is why I came to see what you were up to in here. Just remember to keep your guard up, ‘cause she should be fine but might bite a bit.”

You stretched, heading for the hallway. “Well, let’s get this party started, shall we?” you asked, Dean following close behind.

“Lets.”

Dean’s hand hovered behind your lower back as the two of you headed for the library, the barely-there feeling of his skin a comfort to you. You saw Sam sitting at the main table, all of the witch’s old books spread out in front of him in a familiar sight. He looked up as you and Dean walked in, taking note of his brother’s hand resting on thin air.

“Hey Dean, Y/N,” he greeted, eyes looking through you but acknowledging you all the same. 

“Re-reading again?” you asked him, and Dean translated. Sam sighed, nodding.

“Just trying to get through all of this one more time before Rowena gets here. She’s going to try to take these books, but we can’t let her have them…” Sam sighed. “I’m re-reading them just in case she pulls one on us.”

Dean nodded, pulling a chair out for you. You sat, grabbing a book and pulling it toward you, flipping to a page about invisibility spells that you’d read a million times. “I might have these books memorized anyway…”

Dean laughed at your comment, telling Sam what you said when he sent a questioning look his way. Sam nodded, adding a, “Me too,” before three sharp knocks sounded on the iron door at the top of the stairs.

“Showtime,” Dean said, standing and heading up the stairs to let Rowena inside. The two of them spoke for a minute before Dean gestured for Rowena to come in. You watched as she came down the stairs, her posture making her small frame seem much more powerful than she initially seemed. Her fiery red hair fell across her back in perfect ringlets – she had to have it spelled to look like that, it looked too perfect to be natural. Her bright green dress was covered in sparkles, making her seem all the more important than her tiny frame would suggest. She glanced around the room, obviously familiar with the bunker, before heading toward Sam (and you) in the library.

“Samuel,” she said with authority, and Sam nodded in her direction. Dean came up behind your chair, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder as he settled there, seeming to stand guard. “I hope that you called me here for more than just a book club.” Rowena’s eyes lingered on the books in front of her, curiosity in her eyes despite the bored tone of her voice.

Sam nodded, motioning for Rowena to take a seat next to him. “I did. We were hoping you could help us out…we, ah,” Sam looked up at Dean before continuing. “We have this friend in a situation that we were hoping you could relieve.”  
“A situation?” Rowena raised her eyebrow at the carefully chosen word, looking over at Dean curiously. “And what situation would that be?”

“Cursed,” Dean answered simply. “We’re hoping you could lift a curse from our friend.”

A smile broke out on Rowena’s face, and you could tell that it was from her love of magic. “Ah, a curse. Well I know many curses, and counter-curses, so I just might be of service.” Her face turned back to Sam’s. “What, may I ask, do I get in return?”

You watched as Rowena’s eyes raked the books in front of her, obviously placing value in them. 

“Not these, Rowena,” Sam said sternly, and you saw her pout. “You owe me, and you know it. This is to make us even. You can, however, use these to help you determine the curse placed on our friend.”

Rowena nodded, pulling a book her way. You knew it was one that had no invisibility, notice-me-not, or other similar spells in it, so you stood, reaching across the table and moving the book away from her. You slid the book you’d been re-reading, the one with pages about invisibility spells, toward her in its place.

The looks on both Rowena and Sam’s faces were priceless, realization dawning on Rowena’s face to the type of curse she would be lifting. “Fascinating,” she whispered, eyes skimming the room. “So we have an invisible friend here, yes?”

Dean answered. “Yes, Y/N, meet Rowena. Rowena,” Dean put his hand on your upper back. “This is Y/N.”

Rowena smiled, eyes dancing from Dean to the seemingly empty air next to him. She stood, walking around the table to where you were. “Like I said, fascinating.”

Rowena lifted her hands, seeming to feel the air in front of her. A look of concentration fell on her face, energy sparking from her fingertips. Dean stayed beside you, his hand a comfort still.

“And Dean, you can see her?” she asked him, not pausing in her search for you. 

He nodded, locking eyes with you for a minute. “We were hoping you could maybe tell us why I can see her in addition to lifting the curse.”

A twitch at the corner of Rowena’s mouth was the only reply Dean got to that, and you watched her suspiciously. After years of watching people, noting their quirks, you were sure that Rowena already knew something about your curse that she wasn’t sharing.

After a few minutes, she dropped her hands and walked back to the book. “Let me see what I can find in these, as I’m assuming they belonged to the witch who placed the curse?”

Sam nodded in affirmation. “These were the books that we took from her house, and I’ve read through all of them, as has Y/N. Maybe something will stand out to you that didn’t to us.”

“Well then, boys, Y/N, let’s get started, shall we?”


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Rowena spent the rest of the day reading through the witch’s books, jotting down some of her own notes, none of which were in English, on separate papers. You guessed that there was some witch language that Rowena spoke that you didn’t, seeing as the writing she used was not Greek, Latin, Spanish, or any language you recognized.

Sam didn’t seem worried about her notes, whispering to Dean in the kitchen at one point that he’d make doubly sure that she didn’t leave with any of them when she was done. You trusted him, so you sat back and watched the redhead work.

She stopped to eat dinner, Sam having made some sort of vegan-friendly food for Rowena. Dean grumbled through the entire meal, wondering aloud why they were all having to eat like chickens when Rowena was the only vegan one in the room, but you quickly shushed him, telling him that you’d make him a pie later.

You didn’t notice that Sam and Rowena met eyes when Dean’s mouth shut, the two of them figuring out that you had placated him somehow, but not knowing exactly how. All they could see was the goofy grin on Dean’s face and him eating the rest of his meal, no further complaints.

After dinner, Sam returned to the library with Rowena while you and Dean went down to the basement to spar. He’d promised that you could show him what you knew about fighting, so now was as good of a time as any.

Dean started easy on you, showing you how to properly throw a punch that would do the most damage coming from a girl your size. You were a quick study, your agility and speed coming to your advantage. Soon enough, you’d laid Dean flat on his back a handful of times, earning a grin of pride from him.

You helped him up just as Sam coughed from the doorway, coming to find you. “She’s either got it or not, but it’s time to try.”

You and Dean met eyes, adrenaline from both the sparring and potential success of Rowena’s spell making excitement running through your veins.

You headed to the library, seeing that Rowena had laid out a plethora of ingredients (most of which you didn’t recognize) and a spell written on paper next to her.

“Ah, Dean. I see Samuel found you. Is Y/N here as well?” Rowena asked, a grin on her face.

Dean nodded, motioning toward you. “She’s here.”

“Good,” Rowena said, clasping her hands. “Y/N, dear, when I tell you to, please slice your palm with this knife,” she placed a silver knife next to the bowl in front of her, “and drip exactly four drops of blood onto the mixture I will be preparing.”

Rowena looked from Sam to Dean. “Does she understand?”

You looked to Dean before walking toward the table, picking up the knife carefully. “Got it. Four drops.”

“She understands,” Dean answered, seeing that both Rowena and Sam were now looking around for the knife, which to them seemingly disappeared.

“Good. Now we’ll begin.”

You watched as Rowena began chanting in an unknown language to you, adding ingredient after ingredient to the large bowl. A few times, the things inside smoked, but for the most part they just sat there while she talked. After a few minutes, Rowena stopped her chanting, motioning toward the bowl. “Blood, please.”

You took the knife and sliced your palm, hissing at the sting. You gripped your hand in a fist, raising it above the bowl. You began to count, hearing Dean echo your counts from a few steps away.

“One….two….” the blood began to bubble in the bowl. “Three…four.”

When Rowena heard Dean say four, she began chanting again, louder this time. She raised her hands above the bowl and you could feel energy radiating from her. She stopped chanting, holding her hands still for a second more before clapping them together, a bright light flashing from the bowl throughout the room.

The light reminded you of a light you’d only seen once before, streaming from the windows of the witch’s house the night you were cursed.

That light was the last thing you remembered before you were knocked out cold.

* * *

“Y/N?” you heard someone calling, but your eyes were so heavy. “Y/N,” the voice said again, louder this time. You felt a hand on your forehead, cool against your heated skin.

“Y/N, please wake up,” Dean’s voice said, worry seeping through his words. You finally were able to open your eyes, blinking at the brightness of your bedroom.

“Wha-“ you tried to speak, but you quickly began coughing. Dean grabbed a glass of water from your bedside table, giving it to you to sip. He held your head as you did so, your body so exhausted that you could barely hold your head up.

You tried to speak again. “What happened?”

Dean let you lay back down, perching next to your hip on your bed. “Rowena’s spell. It knocked you out cold – there was this bright flashing light-“

“There was a light just like that one the night I was cursed, from the witch’s house,” you interrupted, excitement in your tired voice.

“Yeah, that’s what she said was probably the case,” Dean replied, looking down at his hands. You followed his eyes, seeing that he was holding onto your hand tightly, the warmth of his fingers making your stomach flip.

“And?” you asked, wanting him to go on.

“Well, the spell caused the light, and the light knocked you out. It blinded the rest of us for a minute, so we weren’t quite sure what happened. When we could finally see what had happened, Rowena’s bowl had basically exploded and you were out on the floor.”

You watched Dean’s face closely, trying to read his expressions.

“Dean, can they see me now?” you pressed, needing to know if it worked or not.

Dean was about to reply when Sam rushed in the door, holding it open. “Is she awake? I heard talking…”

You looked over to Sam, seeing him look directly at Dean before his eyes jumped around the bed where you were laying. They never focused on your face or on your hands clasped in Dean’s, which was answer enough.

“He still can’t see me…” you said sadly, and Dean nodded, both to you and Sam.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Dean said, just as sad as you were. “If you feel up to it, Rowena said she could talk to you about what she thinks happened.”

You fought back the tears from your eyes, Rowena’s failure hitting you harder than Castiel’s had for some reason. “Yeah,” you said when you knew your voice wouldn’t wobble. “I’d like to hear what she has to say, I suppose.”

Dean nodded, turning to his brother. “Go grab Rowena, please?”

Sam left immediately, leaving you and Dean alone for just a minute. Your eyes burned, but you couldn’t let yourself cry in front of Dean. For whatever reason, you wanted him to see you as strong and a fighter, not a girl who would cry over something so trivial…

Of course, being invisible wasn’t trivial, but you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

Dean reached his hand out to brush your hair away from your face, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek for a moment. You just barely leaned into his touch, a sigh escaping your lips at the gesture of comfort.

Once again, just as Dean was about to speak, Sam came to the door, this time with Rowena in tow. 

“Is the lassie alright?” Rowena asked, sounding almost comforting.

Dean pulled his hand away before answering. “She’ll be okay. She wanted to hear what you thought about the spell.”

“Yes, of course she does.” Rowena pulled your desk chair out, propping herself on it very ladylike before she continued. She stared at the wall across the room from her, so that she wasn’t looking at any of you in the room. You thought that was maybe a gesture of equality from her; since she couldn’t look at you, she didn’t look at anyone.

“I believe the witch’s curse that was cast on you twenty years ago was of her own making. It is obvious from her spellbooks that she enjoyed creating and combining spells with her own magic, something that is strictly forbidden by the Grand Coven, or was before they disbanded.” Rowena smiled. “I have a feeling that your witch and I would have gotten along very well…but I digress.”

“I was able to piece together a few different spells that she probably referenced, which is how I concocted the spell I attempted earlier. Now, Sam told me that the witch said there was no cure, nothing would reverse the invisibility. That is never true – things can always be reversed. However, sometimes things are unable to be reversed by another spell.”

Rowena let that information sink in before continuing.

“I believe that this curse, because it was one of her own making and enacted decades ago, has become strong in and of itself, not necessarily needing the witch’s magic to power it anymore, but feeding itself from your life force. Castiel, an angel and being attuned to the universe, was able to feel your soul, but not manipulate it in any way, telling me that the curse has worked its’ way deep into your very soul. I believe that is why the counter-spell that I attempted failed.”

You swallowed, throat dry again. Dean’s gaze hadn’t left your face since Rowena began talking, and you finally met his eyes. You saw his worry for you there, something that was comforting beyond measure. “Ask her if she knows why you can see me,” you whispered to him, not breaking eye contact.

Dean didn’t even turn his body as he spoke. “If all of that is true, Rowena, how is it that I can see Y/N? The first person to see her in twenty years…why me?”

Rowena fiddled with the beading on her dress before answering. “Well, there are many potential reasons why that is the case. First of all, you may not be the only one who can see her, just the only one who’s done anything about it.” 

You didn’t like the idea of other people seeing you, of Dean not being the special one. Rowena continued before you could say that to Dean.

“I don’t think that’s the case, however. I think that Dean truly is the only one who can see Y/N. The thing is, most curses and spells have a limit. If I were to, say, hold Samuel here up against that wall, he would only be there for as long as I have the energy to hold him. That’s the limit. If I were to change this lamp into a teapot, the limit would be the size of the matter being manipulated. There are limits to everything.

“When it comes to spells placed on people, the limit usually has to do with another person. How these people are chosen comes from a higher power than me, perhaps our friend Charles, but it seems that you, Dean, are connected at a very deep level to Y/N.”

Sam spoke up from the doorway. “Rowena, if I’m following you correctly… Are you saying that Dean and Y/N are…destined?”

Dean pulled his eyes away from you to look at his brother. “You know I don’t agree with destiny crap, Sam.” The intensity dripping from Dean’s voice startled you, and you figured there was some history deep in the meaning of his words.

“I know, I know, but Dean…” Sam replied, looking to Rowena for assistance.

She met Dean’s eyes for the first time since she entered your room, looking very serious. “Yes, Samuel, I do believe that this means Dean and Y/N are, for lack of a better word, soulmates.”


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Rowena left the bunker shortly after she dropped her bombshell on you: she thought that you and Dean were soulmates. You stayed in your room, wanting to be alone while you processed all that she said.

Firstly, she didn’t believe there was a counter-curse for your invisibility. You were losing hope, fast, that you were ever going to be seen, first with Castiel trying and failing and now with Rowena…

If an angel or a witch couldn’t cure you, who could?

You also stayed in your room, alone, because you weren’t sure how to act around Dean. He had become such an important person in your life in the past few weeks, and you wanted to evaluate that importance.

Did you like Dean because he was the first one to see you and speak to you in twenty years?

Or did you like Dean because you _liked_ Dean?

You’d had crushes before, sure. In middle school and high school, you had been able to watch and follow cute boys around, learning their favorite things and leaving them gifts (even if they didn’t notice the gifts) until you had grown tired of them and moved on. You’d never had a _real_ relationship, a give and take between two people.

For the first time, you could have that with Dean.

But did Dean want that? Would Dean want to be with an invisible girl? How awkward would that be, for Dean to be in a relationship with someone that he could never introduce to friends, never properly go out with…someone his own brother couldn’t even see.

After what seemed like hours of introspection, but was really only the rest of the afternoon, you came to a conclusion. Yes, you were falling for Dean. That was an easy enough conclusion to reach. Your stomach flip-flopped around him, you found yourself relying on him, you enjoyed spending time with him, his touch sent tingles up and down your spine… You liked Dean.

The second conclusion you came to was that you wouldn’t change anything, unless Dean wanted to. The ball was officially in his court.

* * *

You finally came out of your room after your alone time, finding the brothers eating their dinner in the kitchen. Dean looked up when you came in the room, giving you a small smile as you headed for the fridge. You sent him a smile back, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped.

Now that you had realized your crush on Dean, it was completely obvious in everything that you did. You’d have to hold yourself back a bit so you didn’t get hurt.

“Is she here?” you heard Sam ask behind you quietly. Could he see such an obvious a reaction from Dean when you entered the room that he automatically knew you were around? Was Dean that different around you, too? Why would Dean be different around you?

You grabbed half of a sandwich that you hadn’t finished earlier from the fridge before turning to the table. “Tell Sam ‘hi’ for me,” you said to Dean, sitting next to the younger Winchester instead of Dean like you had gotten used to doing.

You missed the confused look that Dean sent your way when you didn’t sit by him, but he said hello to Sam for you like you asked.

“Y/N, we’ve found a hunt nearby,” Sam said to the room, continuing to eat his salad. “Pretty sure it’s just a newborn vampire and should be fairly straightforward, so we were wondering if you’d like to come with us.”

Dean gave Sam a glare as you looked to him in surprise, shocked that they wanted you to go on a hunt so quickly. You wondered what the glare was for before choosing ignoring it to answer Sam’s invitation. “I mean, I’d love to go, but I get it if you want me to stay behind, too…”

Dean looked across the table at you, glare dissolving from his face and seeming as if he were trying to read your thoughts. “We’d love to have you with us, Y/N. That way you don’t have to stay here by yourself again. And anyways, I’ve got you those guns and knives we’ve been working with, and you’re one hell of a runner…”

You blushed at Dean’s praise, ducking your head so he couldn’t see it. Did you want to go on a case with the boys, spending all day every day with Dean?

Would you really want to stay behind again, all by yourself in the bunker?

“Sure, I’ll go,” you finally said, which Dean reiterated to Sam.

Sam grinned, hopping to his feet. “Great!” he said energetically. “We can leave first thing in the morning. I’m gonna hit the hay.”

You and Dean watched Sam put his plate away before bounding out of the room, silence falling over the kitchen. You finished eating quickly, wanting to get back to your room for the night so that you weren’t alone with Dean for more time than necessary. You were entirely too self-aware of your actions now that you knew that you liked him.

Why was it so different to be alone with him after Rowena’s words and the realization of your feelings?

You stood, clearing your plate as well. “Y/N…” Dean said from behind you, making you turn to face him. He stood and walked the couple paces toward you, stopping just an arm’s length away.

“Yes, Dean?” you asked, looking up into his bright green eyes. You lost yourself for a moment, only snapping out of your daze when Dean stepped slightly closer to you.

“Um, about what Rowena said…” Dean started, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I, uh, I don’t do too well with destiny stuff.”

You nodded, looking down at your fiddling hands. “It’s okay, Dean. No biggie.”

Suddenly one of Dean’s hands was covering yours, making you freeze. “But it is, Y/N, or it could be, I suppose.”

You looked up at him, surprised at how close he had gotten to you. His eyes bore into yours before drifting downward to look at your mouth, your next words catching in your throat and getting stuck there. Before you could say anything, Dean’s lips were on yours, their plumpness melding perfectly with yours. You gasped in surprise, letting Dean’s tongue swipe sweetly between your lips before pulling back.

The kiss was quick and simple, but it set your whole body on fire. You’d never been kissed before, never had the chance, and now _Dean_ had kissed you. You thought your heart was going to beat right out of your chest, the blood rushing past your ears louder than anything you’d ever heard. 

You opened your eyes, not realizing that they had closed, to see Dean watching you carefully. “You alright?” he asked, bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. You nodded, unsure if you could trust your voice at the moment. 

Dean seemed close to saying something else but the moment was interrupted by Sam bounding back in the room, energy still very much present.

“I forgot to tell you – we’ve gotta stop for a couple books at the library on the way out,” he said, Dean turning around and stepping away from you.

“Uh, sure, Sammy. Whatever,” Dean replied, glancing at you before looking back at Sam. “Hey, notice anything?”

Sam looked at Dean with confusion on his face, eyes darting around the room before replying. “No…should I?”

Dean sighed, looking defeated. “No, I guess not. See ya in the morning.”

“Night,” Sam threw over his shoulder, already a few steps down the hallway.

Dean stood looking at the place Sam had just been standing for a moment more. “Dean?” you asked him tentatively, wanting to understand what was going through his mind.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, facing you. “With what Rowena said…the whole destiny-soulmate thing… I guess I thought we could try the whole Sleeping Beauty/Snow White fairy tale kiss…”

Your eyes widened, realizing what Dean was saying. He thought the curse could be lifted by some sort of… True Love’s Kiss?

Did that mean that Dean had feelings for you?

When you hadn’t responded, Dean turned toward the door, taking a step away from you. Not wanting him to just walk away from what he just said, you grabbed his arm to stop him.

He looked back at you, something you couldn’t quite make out just behind his eyes as he watched you. “Thank you, Dean,” you said simply, smiling at him. He immediately smiled back, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“I just wanted Sam to come in here and be able to see you, you know?” he said, grabbing your hand from his arm and entwining your fingers. “We’re going to figure this out, Y/N. You and me together.”

“I know we will, Dean,” you said, more hope in that statement than you cared to admit. “You and me together.”

* * *

You went to bed with butterflies in your stomach, unable to sleep because you were replaying your kiss with Dean. Your first kiss with Dean.

Your first kiss ever.

That thought was what occupied your mind mostly, as you were well past the age when most girls get their first kiss, but here you were, acting like a schoolgirl who had just been kissed by the cutest boy at school.

You supposed that’s pretty much what happened, just ten to fifteen years too late.

You fell asleep eventually, dreaming of Dean and his bright green eyes and plump lips, the phrase ‘True Love’s Kiss’ rolling around in your brain. You had many versions of dreams, ones where the ‘True Love’s Kiss’ had actually worked, ones where Sam could see you, ones where you became visible but Dean became invisible….You woke up terribly confused and worried, eager to distract yourself with a hunt.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

You packed your small duffle bag once you’d showered in the morning, ready to go well before the boys were even after a night of fitful sleeping. You made a healthy breakfast for the three of you, wanting to be as helpful as possible on your first hunt, beginning even before you’d left.

Soon the three of you were in the Impala, driving to Colorado to take care of the fledgling vampire. Sam filled you and Dean in on the way, talking through the three kills that had occurred, the way that it was obviously a sloppy job of a baby vampire, and quizzing you on everything you’d read up on vampires. 

By the time Dean pulled into a motel in Fort Collins, they were both satisfied that you would be able to out-smart the vamp, by way of dead man’s blood, your sharpened machete Dean had given you, or just running away very fast.

You hoped you wouldn’t chicken out enough for the latter option, but knew that if it came to it, you’d be able to run.

Dean went into the motel office, grabbing a room key for the three of you. He and Sam led the way into the room and you immediately saw the two double beds, no couch in sight. Sam and Dean tossed their bags on the beds like second nature, so you just placed yours against one wall, unsure of what you should do with it.

Before you could ask, they were in and out of the bathroom, changing into their suits. You couldn’t help watching the way Dean’s white dress shirt clung to his body as he tied his tie, his pants fitting him just right before the bottom of his jacket covered the place your eyes had roamed.

You quickly averted your eyes when he turned your way.

“Y/N, I’m thinking you should come with us, do some snooping around while we’re interviewing people. It’ll be easy for you to do things unnoticed,” Sam snorted at Dean’s statement, “and you can get info while we’re talking. Sound good?”

You nodded, grabbing a notepad and pen from your bag and sticking it in your back pocket. Dean smiled at your preparation before opening the door. Sam left first, heading for the car quickly as his mind was obviously on the case. You moved to follow, but Dean grabbed your arm as you were walking through the door to stop you.

“Hey, I want you to be careful, okay? Anything weird happens, you get out. Understand?” Dean spoke seriously, eyes trained on your face. You nodded, nervous but excited for the case.

Maybe a little nervous and excited that Dean still had a hold of your arm and was staring you down, something meaningful behind his eyes. He nodded as well, before pulling you closer and kissing the side of your head, on the space between your eye and ear. It could have been a friendly kiss, supporting and reassuring you, but you were sure that’s not all it was based on the way his lips lingered just a moment too long. Before you could respond, he ushered you out the door, pulling it closed behind you and heading to the car.

* * *

The medical office was intense, as you hadn’t spent much time around dead bodies before, besides the ones the witch had killed in your town. Sam and Dean fell into their official act easily, and you could see how the years of experience gave them even more confidence in speaking to people.

While they were talking with the coroner, Dean motioned for you to look in the latest victim’s personal effects, which you did quickly. There was nothing out of the ordinary, not that you expected any hex bags or anything on this case. You found a matchbook from a bar in town, receipts from a coffee shop, and the normal wallet, watch, keys. 

You wrote in your notebook all the names and addresses that you found and had just finished when Dean and Sam were heading out of the room. Dean sent a questioning look your way and you gave him a thumbs up, letting him know that you had gotten what you thought was important.

They walked straight down the hall to the morgue, asking to look at the other bodies. Again, you did your thing, looking through personal effects and jotting down notes. By the time you were done, you were excited to tell Dean what you’d found.

You waited until the three of you were back in the Impala. “We need to go to this bar, Pete’s. Every victim had something from the bar in their personals – matchbook, receipt, mint wrapper, whatever. It seems that’s the only common place between them all.”

Dean looked back at you over the seat, grinning. He reached for your hand, squeezing it as he spoke. “Way to go, Y/N. You’re making our lives too easy.”

You blushed under his praise, noticing that he wasn’t letting go of your hand. “What’d she find?” Sam asked, and Dean told him what you’d said.

Sam grinned toward the backseat, somewhat in your direction. “Nice job, Y/N.”

Dean squeezed your fingers a final time before turning back around, pointing Baby out of the parking lot and back toward the motel.

In half an hour, the boys had changed into street clothes and the three of you were heading into the bar, machetes surreptitiously attached to your belts and syringes of dead man’s blood in your pockets.

The boys headed to the bar, grabbing a couple stools and requesting a couple beers from the bartender, trying to blend in as much as possible. You didn’t sit, instead standing between them so that you could look around the bar at everyone in the place.

You spoke quietly, even though you knew Dean was the only one who could hear you. “Couple in the front, college aged, looks like they’re on a date. Family at a booth over there, with kids – _why_ do people bring their children to a bar anyway – look pretty normal. Looks like three motorcycle guys playing pool, mid-thirties. A table of people in the back, a few guys and a few girls. Loner over at the pinball machine, guy with long hair.”

Dean nodded, not turning around to see who you were speaking about but taking it all in. You looked over at him, not realizing how close you were standing until he turned your way as well, your breath mingling in the small space between your faces. “Pinball guy the best bet?” you asked.

Dean nodded, speaking softly so Sam could hear. “Yeah, if it’s a newly formed vamp, he’d probably be alone.”

“I’ll go check him out,” you replied immediately, beginning to walk over. Dean’s hand grabbed yours, making you look back. 

“Be careful,” he whispered, concern seeping through his voice. You nodded, giving him a small smile before you slid from his grasp.

You ignored Sam’s “Dude…” as you walked away, not taking the time to think about what he was commenting about.

Pinball guy, once you got up close, was early-twenties. He had long hair that fell across his face, which you could see once you got up close was awfully pale. His long fingers were playing the game with efficiency, as if he played it constantly. You watched him for a minute, trying to see if you could find any outward signs of vampirism.

You reached out slowly to touch his hand, feeling that it was cold. You made a mental check for that. Very carefully, you reached your hands toward the guy’s face, ready to bolt if necessary.

You slowly lifted his upper lip, seeing a retracted fang there. One of the guy’s hands came up to rub his mouth a second after your hand pulled back, obviously realizing that it was moving of its own accord.

You watched him for a moment more, seeing that he was back into his pinball game, before turning and rushing to the bar.

“It’s definitely him, he’s got fangs,” you reported to Dean, standing right by his chair.

“His fangs are out?” Dean said, probably a little too loudly.

“No, no, no,” you corrected. “I just lifted his lip a bit and saw them. He’s engrossed in that game of his.”

“You what?” Dean responded with worry, eyes flitting to the guy and back at you. You didn’t respond, not really able to explain to Dean how you had checked.

Sam was watching Dean’s face carefully, confused at the one line of conversation he had picked up. “Pinball guy is the vamp?” Sam asked, wanting clarification.

“Yea, he’s our guy. Want to entice him to the alley?” Dean asked, finishing his beer and throwing down a twenty.

“Sounds good,” Sam replied, pulling out a small knife and slicing the back of his hand, just enough to draw a few drops of blood. He stood, walking toward the back of the bar, past the pinball machine and out the back door.

You and Dean followed a few steps behind, seeing the vampire’s head jerk up at the scent of Sam’s blood, following him out the door.

Dean turned to you, eyes serious. “Be careful, and if I say run, run.”

You nodded before the two of you went out the back door, Dean pulling his machete out quickly.

Somehow in the ten seconds you and Dean had waited, the vamp had gotten Sam against a brick wall, snarling in his face as Sam tried to fight him off. Dean ran over, grabbing the back of the vamp’s jacket and pulling him off of Sam.

You stood by the door, watching the fight in front of you. You grabbed your machete out of your jacket, unsure of what exactly you could do in this moment. You looked around – trash bin on one side, iron staircase leading up to a second floor room on the other side. Not much in the way of assistance for any surprise invisible attack.

The vampire regained his balance, Sam and Dean lining up to face off with him. You pulled your dead man’s blood out of your pocket with your free hand, walking around behind the vampire to see if you could get the jump on him.

Dean saw what you were doing and started talking to keep the vampire still. “Who’s your maker, vampire?” he asked. You took a couple steps forward. “You’ve got to be the dumbest vamp we’ve come across, leaving a trail of bodies.”

The vampire snarled, jerking toward the brothers and you followed. You reached your hand out, holding the dead man’s blood. “It was so easy to find you, picking up your vics all at the same place. Stupid move, dude.”

With all of your strength, you plunged the syringe into the back of his neck, pressing the button to release the blood. The vampire screamed, twisting around and swinging his arms at the air behind him.

You didn’t let go of the syringe until it was too late. You weren’t quick enough to get out of his arm’s way, getting knocked to one side. Your body hit the iron staircase, pain erupting in your side. Your vision began to blur, but you saw the vampire fall to his knees in weakness and Sam behead him. You would have been happy at the win, but instead Dean’s worried face running toward you the last thing you saw before you blacked out.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Sam, seeing Dean running for the staircase and calling your name worriedly, realized instantly that something was wrong. He turned toward the vampire’s decapitated body, throwing it into a nearby trash bin and lighting it on fire, the stench of the trash covering the smell of the burning body.

When he turned back to Dean, he was shocked by what he saw. Dean was frantic, taking off his outer shirt and putting it near the ground, the piece of clothing seeming to disappear in front of Sam’s eyes as it met your body. 

What he didn’t know yet was that when you’d gotten knocked away by the vampire, you’d been sent flinging toward the iron staircase, and unbeknownst to any of you, the rusted metal had one jagged edge in the place right where you hit. It punctured your side, the weight of your falling body causing the metal to pull along your ribcage. 

Dean had run to your side immediately, seeing that you were injured and unconscious. He quickly assessed the situation and pressed his shirt to your side, soaking up blood that was pooling out of you. Sam watched, helpless as his brother frantically wrapped you up, seeming to gather you in his arms.

“Car, now,” Dean said, rushing down the alley toward where they had parked. Sam didn’t hesitate to follow, hearing the panic in Dean’s voice. Dean gently placed you in the back seat, joining you there, and thrust the keys toward his brother’s hands. Sam took them and drove without hesitation, racing for the motel where he hoped Dean could help you.

When they parked, Dean climbed out of the car, gingerly picking you up once more. He carried you into the room, looking to Sam as if he were merely holding his arms awkwardly in front of him as opposed to holding an unconscious, bleeding girl.

Dean laid you out on the bed, uncovering your bloody cut and looking at it worriedly. “Sam, get the whiskey and medical supplies, right now,” he said sternly, not taking his eyes off of your side. Sam quickly obeyed, having never seen Dean so frantic before.

Dean wouldn’t admit that there were tears in his eyes, somewhat blocking his vision of you. He wouldn’t admit to all of the things he was mumbling, things like “Don’t leave me,” “Come on, you can wake up, now,” or “Y/N, I can’t lose you.”

Sam would never repeat those words back to Dean either, knowing that his brother was lost in the moment with you.

As Sam handed Dean the supplies, there was a moment between the brothers. Dean looked up at Sam, helplessness behind his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, man,” he said softly, wishing with all his might that Sam was the one who was able to see you, as he was much better at the whole doctor thing than Dean. “I think this cut is really deep.”

Sam nodded, sitting on the far side of the bed so that he knew he wasn’t crushing you, but wanting to be close for his brother’s sake. “You can do this, Dean. Tell me what it looks like, we can do this together. I’ll talk you through it.”

Dean nodded, gulping as he looked back down at your body. “Okay, so she has a cut along her torso, just here,” Dean pointed at his own side so that Sam could see where the cut was. Sam nodded, trying to imagine what Dean was seeing. 

“Is it covered, or have you uncovered it?” Sam asked, wanting to help as much as possible.

“Her shirt’s torn, I had covered it with mine to try to stop the bleeding, but I took that off now,” Dean responded, fingers pinching the bloody material of your top near the wound.

“You’ve gotta get the area uncovered so you can really see what you’re dealing with, Dean,” Sam instructed, and Dean met his eye.

Dean needed to take your shirt off to help you.

Dean felt his heart clench, not wanting to strip you of your clothes without your permission, but knowing that it was necessary to save you. Slowly, his fingers unbuttoned your shirt, the material catching around the blood-matted area on your side. He reached his arm around your back, supporting you as he peeled the material off your body and down your arms.

When Dean finally had the shirt off, he laid you back down, your pale pink bra a stark contrast to your skin. He gulped, trying not to admire the skin he had revealed at this completely inappropriate time, but subconsciously noticing your physique and how attractive you were.

He shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. His eyes moved back to the cut on your side.

“Okay, what does it look like?” Sam asked, his question pulling Dean completely back to the task at hand.

“It’s about five inches long, down her side. I can’t quite see how deep it is…” Dean leaned down, pulling at the skin on either side of the cut to see how deep it went. “Maybe an inch? Maybe a bit less, but dude, it’s bleeding a lot.”

“Is it dirty, we need to clean it first,” Sam continued, worry in his eyes as he watched Dean mentally freaking out.

“Yeah, there’s some rust flecks from the staircase. I’ll clean it first,” Dean replied, grabbing some cotton balls and the hydrogen peroxide.

He coated a cotton ball thoroughly, taking the tweezers Sam held out for him and pinching the ball between the end. Carefully, Dean slipped the fabric into one end of the cut, starting a bit when your body jerked. He watched the cleansing foam work into your wound, soaking up some blood and picking up flecks of rust.

When the first cotton ball was used up, Sam was ready to hand him another, and they slowly worked their way through your cut, cleaning it as much as possible. Your breathing started getting ragged when Dean was nearly done, and he almost dropped the tweezers.

“Something’s wrong,” Dean said suddenly, reaching for your face. He smacked your cheek a couple times, speaking to you. “Y/N, babe, wake up. Please wake up.”

Sam watched helpless, stepping away from the bed and calling Castiel. He watched as Dean shook thin air, talking to you but apparently unsuccessful in bringing you to consciousness.

Castiel was at the door in just a few minutes, assessing the situation quickly. He took Sam’s place on the bed, reaching his hand out over where he thought your body was.

“Cas, man, I can’t get her to wake up…” Dean said, on the verge of tears. “She’s lost so much blood…”

Castiel’s eyes were scrunched, and Dean watched as he lowered his hand to your forehead, much like he had done the first time you’d met. Time slowed down for a minute as the brothers held their breath, using every prayer they had to give Castiel the energy and support to mend you.

Castiel pulled back after a minute, looking sad. “I still am unable to help her, Dean. What can I do to help _you_?”

Dean looked as ragged as he had when he was telling Sam about hell years ago. He looked back down at your cut, now clean but still bleeding. Glancing over your torso and face, he said quickly, “Blood. She needs blood, quick, or she’s not going to get through this.”

Castiel nodded, standing and heading out the door. Sam took his place again, asking Dean for an update.

“Cut is clean. Still bleeding. Deeper than I thought.”

Sam nodded. “When Cas brings blood, and we get her IV going with that, it should help. You should stitch her up now. It’s better for the wound to be closed than open and still bleeding out.”

Dean nodded, knowing that Sam was right. He reached for the whiskey, hands shaking as he looked through their med kit for a needle and thread.

Sam’s hand descended on Dean’s, realizing his brother was shaking and not going to be able to cleanse or thread a needle at this moment. “I got it, Dean,” he said softly, nodding at Dean.

Dean pulled his hands away, reaching instead to hold onto yours. They were slightly cold, probably from the blood loss. Your face was pale, and it brought tears to his eyes yet again. “Hang on, Y/N. You’re gonna be just fine,” he whispered to you, just before Sam handed him the needle and thread, sterilized and ready.

Dean took it in hand, repositioning himself so that he was at a good angle to sew the cut up. As carefully as possible, he dabbed away blood in the very middle, wanting to make sure that he sewed you as evenly as possible, not wanting you to scar at all. 

You were too pure to have a scar from this.

Dean made the first stitch, pulling it tight and trimming the strings. Then he made the second. Then the third.

He didn’t notice when Castiel returned, a bag of your blood type in his hand. Sam must have told him to wait, watching Dean carefully stitch thin air from the other side of the bed.

Dean’s own bottom lip was becoming bloody because of how much he was biting it, but he was determined to not mess up. Finally, he tied the last stitch, dabbing around the cut with clean gauze.

“Okay, it’s all closed up,” he said to Sam and Castiel, leaning back. He looked up to see Cas with the blood, ready to go. “Let me cover this, then we’ll get that going.”

Sam nodded, already with a bandage ready to go. Dean put salve on the wound, something they’d gotten from the bunker’s medical room and would hopefully enhance and speed up the healing, before covering it up. He grabbed all the bloody cotton balls and gauze pads, throwing them in the trash can.

“How the hell do I do this blood thing, now?” Dean asked Sam, so his brother talked him through setting the needle into your vein and hanging the bag. Once it was attached to your arm, it vanished from Sam and Castiel’s knowledge, so Dean was in charge of making sure the blood supply was helping you properly.

Finally it seemed that the situation was under control. Castiel patted Dean on the back before he left, telling them to call if anything changed. Dean merely nodded, his hands clasped around yours and eyes never leaving your face.

Sam sat in the chair across the room, monitoring his brother as Dean monitored you, making sure you didn’t fall away from him completely.

The next morning, Dean was still sitting in the same place as he had been once he finished stitching you up, staring bleary-eyed at your figure on the bed. You hadn’t moved all night, hadn’t woken up, but also hadn’t gotten worse.

Better no news than bad news, right?

Sam had fallen asleep in his chair at some point, his bladder waking him up in the early morning. He stretched, popping his back as he stood up.

Dean didn’t glance at him, but he spoke anyway.

“Any change?”


	20. Chapter Nineteen

“Any change?”

A sigh was the only thing Dean did to respond, so Sam took that as a sign of no change. He went to the bathroom to do his business before heading for his duffel, pulling out a change of clothes.

As he changed, he spoke. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to get us breakfast and coffee. You stay here, get packed. When I get back we’re leaving.”

Sam looked at Dean for any response, but got none so he continued. “I’ll drive, you stay in the back with Y/N. It’ll be better for her to be at the bunker, safe, while she’s recovering.”

Dean still didn’t respond, just rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. Sam nodded, heading out of the motel room to run to the diner next door for food.

The slam of the motel door brought Dean somewhat out of his stupor, glancing to the place where Sam had disappeared. He sighed again, looking at your body.

Your color was back, thanks to the blood Cas had brought, but you still hadn’t woken up. He hoped that was a good sign, maybe your body was keeping you asleep so it could heal. That’s what comas were for, right?

Oh, God. What if you never woke up? Not only invisible, but also forever asleep?

“Please don’t give up, Y/N,” Dean found himself saying aloud. “I know we’ve only known each other a little while, but I can’t lose you. You’ve gotta wake up for me, okay?”

Dean reached out to brush the hair from your forehead, tenderness in his gesture. “We’re gonna go back home, and you’ll get all better. It’s all going to be okay.”

He brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles and keeping them pressed against his mouth, needing to feel your skin against his own.

That’s how Sam found him ten minutes later, not having moved a muscle.

“Dean,” Sam said sternly, throwing a bag his way. “Eat. Then we’re going.”

Dean opened the bag to find a breakfast burrito, his stomach growling in approval. He let go of your hand, resting it gently on your stomach, before he ate his meal quickly. Sam spent the time packing the Impala, clearing out the backseat completely so that both Dean and you could fit across it.

When Sam was finished, he came back in the room to see Dean staring at the bed again, obviously looking at you. “Ready?”

Dean nodded, reaching out to pick up your body. Sam held the door for him, watching Dean closely as he carried your invisible body to the car. Dean settled you into the backseat, sliding himself beneath your head and shoulders. He began to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture comforting him more than it was you, as you were still sleeping soundly.

Sam must have driven fast, as the time went by quickly to Dean. What seemed like only minutes later, Sam turned into the driveway of the bunker, pulling the car into the garage.

Dean’s strong arms lifted you once more, this time taking you to your bed. He laid you there, getting ready to perch himself again by your side before Sam stopped him.

“Dude, you’ve gotta sleep. Get some shut eye, we can leave a note for her that she’ll see if she wakes.”

Sam knew Dean was truly tired because he didn’t even try to argue with his logical thinking brother, just followed orders and walked across the hall to his bedroom. He didn’t close either door between your rooms, looking across the hall at your body sleeping from where he laid on his bed before he closed his eyes, immediately falling asleep.

Dean woke hours later, rubbing his eyes to focus himself. He sat up in bed, noticing that the door to his room was closed. Sam must have closed it during his nap.

Dean stood, stretching as he went to check on you. Your door was closed too, so he opened it slowly and walked in.

He froze at what he saw – the room was completely empty. The bed was empty, sheets and blankets folded at the foot of it. “Y/N?” he asked the empty room, rushing for your bathroom. It was also empty, all of your toiletries gone. Your closet was empty, dresser drawers cleaned out as well.

“Y/N?” Dean asked louder, heading back out into the hallway. “Y/N!”

Dean began running to the library, yelling your name every few feet. Where had you gone? Did you leave? Could he not see you anymore?

“Y/N!” Dean yelled as he reached the library, out of breath from adrenaline and worry. Sam was sitting there, reading a book.

“Sam, have you seen-“ Dean stopped himself from asking such a dumb question. “I mean, I can’t find Y/N. I don’t know where she is.”

Sam stood, walking toward Dean in the doorway. “Y/N?” he asked, looking confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/N! I can’t find her, her room is empty, I don’t know where she is. She must have woken up, left for some reason…” Dean was pacing at this point, running his hands through his short hair in frustration. “What if she’s not completely healed? What if she left and is bleeding out somewhere on the side of the road? I have to go find her.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulders, stopping his pacing and rambling. “Dean, calm down. You’ve got to be calm, you’re not helping anything by freaking out.”

“But Sam,” Dean said exasperated, “I can’t find her, she’s gone!”

“Dean, calm down…” Sam said again, shaking his shoulders.

“Calm down…” Sam’s voice rang again, this time sounding a little different. Dean’s eyes opened, seeing his brother sitting next to him in his bed, shaking his shoulders.

“You awake now?” Sam asked, letting go of Dean.

Dean brought a hand up to his face, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, I’m awake. What’re you doing in here?”

Sam stood, giving Dean space to sit up. “You were yelling Y/N’s name in your sleep, freaking out. I just thought it would be better to wake you before you hurt yourself.”

Dean nodded, eyes immediately going to the open door across the hall. You were still laying in bed, still sleeping. “She was gone, Sam,” Dean murmured, shaking his head of the dream. “I woke up, and it was like she was never here. It was awful.”

Sam’s eyes were sympathetic as he listened to Dean speak, leaning against the desk by the wall. “Well, is she there now?” he asked, watching Dean’s eyes.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, she’s there. Still sleeping. I should probably check on her…”

Dean didn’t move, just kept looking at you from across the hall. 

“I, uh. I really like her, man,” he admitted, no surprise coming to Sam’s face.

“I figured, dude. You’ve been caught up on her ever since we got here, and you’ve changed. You’re nicer, especially with her.”

Dean looked at his brother as he spoke, surprised he had been so obvious. “I can’t lose her, Sammy.”

“I know, Dean. You won’t.”

Dean stood, walking across the hall to your room. He leaned over to brush the hair from your forehead, checking your pulse and breathing. It all seemed normal, so he sighed in relief.

“Come on, let’s get you some grub. Then you can come sit in here all night with her if you want,” Sam said from the door, and Dean nodded. He followed his brother to the kitchen, mind still in the room with you.

It took Dean no time to eat, he was so distracted by the way you looked lying on your bed, helpless and hurt, that he didn’t even know what it was that he ate. When he returned to your room, the first thing he did was change your bandage, cleaning your wound meticulously.

Sam watched him with worried eyes, worried for you but also worried for his brother. He hadn’t seen Dean so distraught about someone else’s injuries in a very long time, not since Sam was going through the trials to close the gates of hell.

At that thought, Sam realized just how important you had become to Dean, without any of you even noticing.

Once Dean finished playing doctor, Sam left him alone in your room. Dean appreciated Sam being there for him, he really did, but he also needed some time alone with you.

He grabbed your hand once Sam left.

“Hey, Y/N,” he started speaking, throat heavy. “It’s been over a day now since you’ve been out. I really hope everything’s alright in there…”

Just like he had done before, he raised your hand to his mouth, feeling the skin of your fingers with his lips. “I just want you to wake up,” he mumbled softly, closing his eyes.

Just a moment later, a hand stroked its way through Dean’s hair, making his eyes flash open.

“Well if you want me to wake up, I should probably do that,” you croaked, a half-smile on your face. 

You watched as Dean’s entire demeanor changed, his eyes lighting up and a huge grin on his face. “Y/N…” he said, emotion in his voice. “God, am I glad you’re alright.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, Dean’s lips were on yours. He held your cheek in one hand, keeping you still while he kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, bringing your bottom lip between them slightly before his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

Your heart jumped to your throat and your fingers carded through the short hairs on the back of Dean’s head, holding on tight as you kissed him back, putting as much emotion into it as you could.

Finally Dean’s lips retreated, releasing your bottom lip with a final pop. When you opened your eyes it was to see Dean smiling brightly at you, and you knew that you’d never be able to leave him again.

Dean spent the next few hours doting on your every need. He answered your questions about what had happened in the alley, as all you could remember was sticking the vamp’s neck with dead man’s blood. You held his hand as he told you about how he had to stitch you up, that Castiel couldn’t heal you and of course Sam couldn’t see you to work. 

You looked at your side under the bandages, impressed with the work that Dean had done. He got you some aspirin for the pain, which you gratefully took.

It was when you were swallowing the pills that your stomach growled, reminding the two of you that you hadn’t eaten in nearly a day. Dean ran to the kitchen to make you some of his ‘famous’ chicken and rice, insisting that it was the best sick person food in the world.

Sam knew immediately upon Dean’s arrival to the kitchen that you had woken up, as Dean’s entire demeanor had changed for the better. He was relieved; he didn’t know what Dean would have done if you’d been out for much longer.

While Dean was occupied in the kitchen, Sam stuck his head in your door, looking toward the bed where you were laying. 

“I’m glad you’re awake, Y/N,” he said with a smile. “We were really worried about you, especially Dean. Let him know if you need anything, anything at all.”

You smiled at Sam’s words, watching as he patted the doorframe before heading for his room, giving you your privacy again. Just a few minutes later Dean came back to your room, bowl of chicken and rice in one hand and his laptop in the other.

“I thought we could watch a movie?”


	21. Chapter Twenty

“I thought we could watch a movie?” he asked as he handed you your food, and you nodded in response to his invitation. Dean made sure you were settled before sitting next to you on the bed, pulling up Netflix. “You choose,” he insisted, scrolling slowly through the options.

“I don’t care, Dean, you can pick. I don’t watch many movies, so I’m sure whatever you choose I’ll love and haven’t seen before,” you said softly, piling a bite of food in your mouth. “Mmm, this is good,” you complimented, busying yourself with eating while Dean scrolled on his computer.

“Okay,” he finally said. “At least pick the genre: action, drama, or…chick flick.”

You laughed at the way he said ‘chick flick’, immediately knowing that he did not want to watch a chick flick by his tone. “Action, duh.”

Dean grinned, pulling up Captain America and pressing play. You nodded at his choice, scraping at the bottom of your bowl of food before putting it on your side table. You took a gulp of water, feeling much better than you had earlier, settling in for the movie.

Dean looked over at you awkwardly, making you frown. “What?” you asked, worried that you’d done something wrong.

He shook his head dismissively, raising his arm. “Come here,” he invited, and you scooted closer to him. You rested your head on his shoulder, letting his hand fall to your waist, careful of your stitches. You sighed against his body, completely and totally comfortable snuggled up against him. 

He breathed deeply into your hair, kissing the top of your head before his eyes moved to the computer screen.

You didn’t even get ten minutes into the movie before you’d fallen asleep, content and happy with Dean.

* * *

It was a few days before you had the energy and strength to spend much time outside of your room, but in those few days Dean never strayed far from your side. He did everything from cooking for you to helping you re-bandage your wound to educating you on the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe, giving you breathtaking kisses every chance he could. 

Sam was in and out of your room as well, making sure that Dean wasn’t annoying you and bringing you books for you to read, which you appreciated. He even sat with the two of you every once and a while, but would always leave after just a little while. You had to imagine that it was strange to see Dean with his arm wrapped around thin air.

Finally you were healed enough to leave your room, going to the library to sit and read and even to the kitchen to make your own lunch. It was while you were making a sandwich for yourself one day that Dean came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey Y/N,” he mumbled against your skin, kissing your neck. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You turned in his arms, looking up at him with a question in your eyes. “What’s up, Dean?”

He sighed, heading for the kitchen table and pulling you along with him. “After spending all of this time with you, here at the bunker, I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed every second of it.” You watched him, nervous about what he was going to say next. Was he getting bored? It sure sounded like it.

He continued, not letting you get too lost in your thoughts. “Now that you’re better, able to be up and about without hurting too badly, I want to take you out, for a date. I want to try this, Y/N, I want _us_ to try this.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, surprised that Dean was wanting to move forward with you and your relationship rather than breaking it off.   
You guessed you were quiet for a moment too long, because Dean leaned forward, grabbing your hand. “Y/N?”

You smiled, eyes almost tearing up from happiness. “Dean, I’d love that. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

He smiled back, relieved sigh leaving his lips. “Awesome. Well, uh, I’d say that I’ll pick you up at 7, but we live across the hall. Want to meet at the Impala at 7?”

You laughed, nodding. “Sounds great, Dean.”

He squeezed your hand one last time before standing, leaving you alone in the kitchen. You looked around, getting your head back on straight after that invitation before you stood to finish making your sandwich, a smile plastered on your face.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with you constantly distracted. You went to read in the library, but found yourself zoning out thinking about Dean. You didn’t see him for the entire afternoon, and had no idea where he went. 

Sam was sitting with you most of the afternoon, whether he knew it or not, but he never said anything about Dean. You wondered if Dean had told him that he had officially asked you out.

About 6:30, you headed to your room, wanting to freshen up for your date. You stood in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror for a good five minutes.

You’d never had to worry about what you looked like before, never dressing to impress other people – no one had ever been able to see you before Dean. Now that you were getting ready for a date with him, you were completely out of your element.

Do you put on makeup? Do you wear a sexy outfit? Was Dean expecting you to do something tonight with him, was he wanting to have sex?

All of the thoughts and doubts in yourself began closing in, and you found yourself falling to your knees, hyperventilating slightly.

There was no way that you were good enough for this. You’d never been on a date before, never had to worry about any of this. You had no idea what you were doing. Dean was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen, he’d surely been on millions of dates in his life. He’d get ten minutes into the date with you and be highly disappointed, you were sure of it.

You must have been sitting there for much longer than you realized, because a knock sounded on your door. Dean poked his head in, seeing you on the ground and rushing to your side.   
“Y/N? he asked, worried. “Are you okay, did you rip your stitches? What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, tears streaming from your eyes unwillingly. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Dean,” you said, shaking your head even more. “I came in here to get ready, but I’ve never done this before. I have no idea what to do or say or what you expect…”

Dean shushed you, pulling you against his chest and kissing the top of your head. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I don’t expect anything, I just want to take my girl out. This shouldn’t be any different than us hanging out here, we’re just going out instead.”

He pushed you away from him, putting you at arms length and brushing your tears from your face. “Please don’t stress about this. I just wanted to do something nice for you. I’m really not expecting anything but to be with you.”

You could see in Dean’s eyes that he was telling the truth, completely serious about just wanting to spend time with you. Finally you sighed, getting control of your emotions again. “Okay. I’m sorry I freaked,” you said, completely embarrassed now by your meltdown.

“’s okay, babe,” Dean said, helping you to your feet. “I’ll give you a minute to yourself, and meet you at the car?”

You nodded and he leaned forward to kiss your cheek, the gesture so comforting that you found yourself leaning into him as he pulled away. 

It only took you a couple minutes this time for you to get ready before you were with Dean in the Impala, on your way for your first date.

You fell into a world of Dean. He took you on dates constantly – the first one was to a drive-thru theatre, no one paying any attention to the cars around them as they watched the show. He took you on picnics, the two of you making your favorite snacks together before packing the basket and finding a nice place to sit. He took you driving, spending hours in the Impala, singing along to classic rock with nowhere in particular to be.

After every date, no matter what time of day it was, Dean would hold your hand and walk you back to your room, kissing you at the door. It was just like he was dropping you off at your house, except your house happened to be the room across the hall from his.

And half the time, you’d meet up in one room or another, an hour or so after the date, to sit and read, watch tv, or just talk, once your post-date high had fallen away and you were itching to see each other again.

Sam stayed out of it all, happy that his brother was happy. All in all, it was a wonderful period of time.

Finally, Sam decided it was time to get back out there, finding a case.

You didn’t want to go on the hunt, because even if your wound was fully healed now and you’d gotten back to sparring with Dean every day for practice, you still were a bit nervous to get back out there. Lucky for you, Dean completely agreed.

“I don’t want to be worried about you, babe,” he mumbled into your ear the night before they left. “Stay here, maybe work with that punching bag a little – the reps I taught you – and we can make sure you’re completely, 100% ready before you get back out there.”

You nodded, the air from his breath against your ear making shivers run up and down your spine, distracting you a bit from his words even though the message was understood. “As long as you’re careful, I’ll be here waiting for you, Dean.”

He smiled and kissed you then, a passionate mixture of your tongues together before he pulled away. “Gotta go pack,” he said, pulling away. “See ya in the morning before we leave.”

The next morning found you in the garage seeing the boys off. “Be safe, text me. Let me know if you need research help,” you instructed, watching as they loaded the trunk.

“You got it. We’ll call if we need anything,” Dean replied, and Sam nodded. Dean slammed the trunk closed, Sam walking around to get in the car.

Dean came toward you, pulling you into his arms. “Don’t get too lonely without me, Y/N,” he whispered teasingly, and you giggled against his chest.

“Right back at you, Dean,” you said, pulling back. His huge hands grabbed your face, bringing you in for a kiss. You sighed into him, knowing this kiss would have to hold you over for a few days until they returned. 

Finally he pulled away when Sam honked Baby’s horn, the two of you grinning. “Coming!” Dean yelled at his brother, kissing you chastely once more before turning to get in the car.

“Bye!” you yelled, waving at him. You watched the car pull away, Dean’s head reaching up to slap the back of Sam’s head for something he said. You laughed, turning back into the bunker to find something to do.

You found yourself watching movies that night, pulled toward the romantic comedies instead of your usual action-packed choices. Your stomach flopped every time the leading characters were together, your brain imagining you and Dean in their positions instead of the characters.

The movies made you realize something – you wanted to have sex with Dean, and you wanted to do it as soon as he got home.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: smut ahead!

You’d never had the desire or opportunity to be physical with anyone before, and all you and Dean had done thus far was kiss, albeit some pretty heavy kissing, but just kissing all the same.

The realization hit you like a freight train: you wanted him, and you were pretty sure he wanted you.

When Dean called that night as they got settled, you found yourself distracted by the rumble of his voice, the sound seeming to go straight to your core. He filled you in on the case, or what they knew so far, so you didn’t have to talk much, which was a good thing because you probably weren’t going to be able to string too many words together with the way your mind was distracted.

Immediately after he hung up, you went to his room, laying on his bed and basking in his scent.

It wasn’t your fault that your hand found its way into your panties. It wasn’t your fault that you closed your eyes and imagined Dean doing all sorts of things to you.

What was he like in bed? Would he tease you for hours, making you beg for him? Would he get right to it, making you come as many times as possible in one night? Would he eat you out first, or finger you, or just go for it?

Your fingers made you come in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but now that your mind was focused on being physical with Dean, that’s all you could think about.

You spent the remaining two days that Dean was away pampering your body, making sure you were completely ready for him when he came home. You waxed, shaved, moisturized, and plucked… Dean would have no hesitation when he saw you and the way you were ready for him.

Finally they were on their way home and you got dressed in your sexiest underwear. You didn’t really have what most people would call ‘sexy’ underwear, but you put on the ones that Dean had blushed the most at when he took you shopping.

You figured that meant he liked them.

You heard the rumble of the Impala as they pulled into the garage a little past nine o’clock. You knew they’d already stopped for dinner, so hopefully Dean would come straight to his room, where you’d stretched yourself out on his bed, wearing nothing but your panties and bra.

You heard them talking in the hallway, Sam saying something about putting books away before heading to bed, before Dean pushed open the door of his room.

Immediately his eyes were on you, wide and shocked at your state of undress.

His words caught in his throat at the sight and he fumbled with the door, closing it behind him as he dropped his bag on the floor. “Y/N…” he practically moaned once he had focused again. “Fuck, what are you up to?”

You watched as he took a few steps toward the bed, arching your back in an attempt to look sexy. You think it probably worked, seeing as he sped up his movement toward you. “Was waiting for you to get home, Dean,” you replied, reaching your hand out for him.

He grabbed it immediately, threading your fingers together as he crawled onto the bed. He settled himself next to you, one of his legs draped over one of yours, but keeping most of his body a safe distance from you. “And why, exactly, were you waiting for me to get home?” he asked, squeezing his hand with yours and finding your hip with his other hand, a tingle of anticipation shooting through your body at the feeling of his rough hand on your skin.

You bit your lip, gathering your courage to speak. “Want you, Dean.”

Dean’s resolve broke at those three words, diving in for your mouth and leaning his body into yours. The rough fabric of his jeans and flannel shirt sent jolts onto your skin and your hands pulled him closer, needing to feel the weight of him on you.

Although you’d never done this before, it felt like you were coming home.

You pushed his button up off of his shoulders, eager to get him out of his clothing and feel his skin. He helped you take it off of him, kicking his shoes off at the same time. He never broke the kiss, his lips taking charge of yours like always. 

He pulled back after a minute, looking down at you with lust-blown eyes. “I just want to make sure you really want this, Y/N, because it’s going to be really difficult for me to stop…”

You nodded enthusiastically, pulling at his t-shirt. “Want this, want you. So bad, please, Dean.”

He grinned, pulling his t-shirt over his head before descending upon your neck, licking and sucking along your pulse point as if his life depended on it. You arched into him, groaning at the feeling.

His bare chest was pressed against you, the fabric of your bra the only thing separating your upper bodies. Wanting to finish evening out the clothing situation, your hands slipped down to his waist, fingers fumbling with his belt. He lifted his face to look you in the eye, giving you one last chance to back out.

With determination, you undid his belt, never breaking eye contact with Dean. You undid his jeans, watching his face carefully as you slipped your hand into the front of his boxers.

Dean’s breath caught in his throat, but neither of you looked away as your fingers found the soft skin of his penis, erection hardening at your very touch. 

Your eyes were wide, now in completely uncharted territory, but you were encouraged by the moan that left Dean’s mouth when you held him in your hand. You squeezed him slightly, testing the waters a bit, and he closed his eyes, resting his head against your collarbone.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he groaned, the sound making your hips buck up of their own volition. The movement snapped him out of his daze and he backed up, slipping himself out of his jeans and boxers. 

Seeing Dean completely naked for the first time had you entranced. Dean was perfect – the mixture of softness and hard muscles obvious from just looking at him. His broad shoulders and strong arms stood out to you, but what you couldn’t look away from right now was his cock, standing confident and leaking right in front of your eyes.

“Dean…” you whimpered, reaching for him again. You wanted to feel him, have him on you, in you, and you didn’t want to wait any longer. He dove back onto the bed, cradling his arms on either side of you to keep him from crushing you.

“Y/N, I want this to be perfect for you,” Dean mumbled against your lips, “your first time, and all…”

You nodded, biting his lower lip before responding, “It’s going to be perfect because it’s you, Dean.”

He kissed your lips once before heading down your neck again, this time sliding his hands behind your back to unhook your bra. You helped him maneuver the fabric away from you, gasping as he began pinching, biting, and licking your nipples. You never knew you could be so sensitive there, but Dean knew just what to do to make you squirm with pleasure. 

When he was satisfied with your chest, he continued his journey south, tonguing over your stomach until he was at your pantyline. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, keeping eye contact as he slipped your underwear down your legs. You watched as he took note of your clean, trimmed core, humming his pleasure at the view.

“So beautiful, Y/N…” he whispered before his tongue dove between your folds, lapping at your juices that had gathered there. Your hands threaded into his hair, noises of pleasure leaving your mouth before you could even think of holding them back. Dean brought his hand up to slide a finger inside of you, then another, stretching you more than you’d ever stretched yourself. 

He pulled his mouth away from your core, looking up at you. “Gotta get you stretched out, Y/N, don’t want to hurt you.”

You nodded, understanding that he was going to take care of you and trusting him explicitly. Your whole body relaxed as Dean pumped his fingers in and out of you, adding a third at the exact moment that his mouth returned to suction around your clit.

You screamed, the intensity of it all overwhelming you. In no time at all, you were coming around his fingers, clenching down on them as he fucked you through it, watching your face carefully.

When you had calmed, he slipped his hand away, coming back up to meet your lips in a kiss. You could taste yourself on him, and it turned you on even more.

Dean settled himself between your legs, his cock nudging against your thigh. “How you doin’, babe?” he asked sweetly, kissing your cheek.

“Want you, Dean, please…” you replied, spreading your legs wider.

He groaned, nudging your neck with his nose as he leaned to one side. “Lemme grab a condom…”

“No. Want you, just…” you couldn’t explain it, but you needed to feel Dean, no condom separating you. He saw your serious look and pulled back, nodding.

“Whatever you want, Y/N,” he said, reaching a hand between your bodies. His fingers twirled your clit a few times before he took himself in hand, lining up with your entrance. You spread your legs a bit farther, gearing yourself up for the intrusion.

“Just relax, baby,” Dean whispered in your ear, sucking on the lobe as he pressed forward. 

It was strange, feeling something inside of you, something big and hard. Dean moved slowly, making sure that you were comfortable and in no pain. It took him a minute to get fully seated, but finally you felt his balls press against your skin.

When you had relaxed around him, you nodded, silently telling him to move. He did, slowly and carefully pulling nearly all of the way out of you before sliding back in. The friction was overwhelming, the feeling of Dean inside of you better than you had ever imagined. Sure, the stretch was different, but not uncomfortable, especially with the way Dean angled his hips just right to hit you in all of the right places.

In just a few thrusts of his hips you were moaning with pleasure, begging Dean for more. His eyes were scrunched shut, trying to keep control of himself, but your tight heat was overwhelming him, too.

He slid his fingers between your bodies, circling your clit as he sped up a bit more. Your hands grasped at his back, a second, much more powerful orgasm hitting you in waves. You yelled his name, fingernails digging into him as he grunted, and then you felt his cock twitch inside of you. Warmth exploded inside of you as Dean rode out his orgasm, the two of you panting against each other’s skin and whispering nonsense words, pleasure enveloping you both.

Finally Dean slowed, his hips resting up against yours. You opened your eyes, seeing him looking down at you in awe. “You’re amazing, Y/N…” he breathed before kissing you deeply, pouring emotion into the kiss that you hadn’t felt before. You kissed him back with as much fervor, so grateful that this man was in your life.

When you pulled away to breathe again, Dean chuckled, his hips ungluing themselves from yours. “Let me get us cleaned up, then we can sleep, okay?”

You nodded, watching as Dean ran across the room for a towel, coming back to clean the come and sweat from your bodies. He was so gentle it overwhelmed you. You couldn’t imagine how you were so lucky to have Dean in your life.

Those were the thoughts you fell asleep to, snuggled up in Dean’s arms.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: more smut

You woke slowly, too comfortable to move or even try to open your eyes. Your mind floated in the place between asleep and awake for a few minutes before you realized exactly why you were so comfortable.

You had a warm, breathing, Dean-shaped pillow under your head, and your legs were wrapped around a strong thigh muscle.

Dean’s hand was holding yours, laying on his upper stomach. When you opened your eyes, you looked at the way his fingers were wrapped around yours, the strength of them so gentle in the way they were touching you.

Memories of the night before came flashing back and you smiled automatically, unable to control the happiness from showing on your face. You shifted, feeling your body sore in places it had never been before.

It was wonderful.

In response to your body shifting, Dean moved against you, his hand gripping yours tighter for just a moment and his hips rolling toward yours, making you completely aware of his morning wood.

A flush of arousal went straight to your core at the thought of Dean naked next to you, and you couldn’t help what you did next.

As carefully as possible, you shifted over Dean, trying your best not to wake him up as you moved. The sheets fell from your body and you pushed them out of the way, giving you full access to Dean’s beautiful body. You straddled his upper legs, his erection standing tall in front of you. 

Your hand tentatively reached out, carefully wrapping your fingers around him and beginning to stroke. You could tell the moment that Dean fell into wakefulness, his entire body tensing at the surprise pleasure you were giving him.

His eyes blinked open, seeing you above him and immediately smiling. “Oh, God,” he groaned as you squeezed him, his hips thrusting up into your hand of their own accord.

“Not God, silly, just me,” you teased, bracing yourself on his chest as you moved forward, lining him up with your pussy. 

Dean grabbed your hips as you sank down onto him, just as slowly as he had entered you last night. This angle was completely different, you realized, and the thought had you mentally noting to try having sex with Dean at _every_ possible angle and position, just to see how it all felt different.

That thought was pushed aside once you were completely seated on his cock, your body falling forward slightly at the deep pressure inside of you.

Dean pulled your face down to his, biting your bottom lip once before speaking low, “Do what you want, Y/N, I’m all yours.”

His voice traveled straight to your core, the timbre making your entire body buzz. You sat yourself back up, grabbing his hands and twining your fingers together, holding on for leverage.

You began to lift yourself off his cock, making eye contact before you slammed yourself back down. Your groan of pleasure mixed with Dean’s loud grunt and you knew this was going to be fun.

It took you a minute, but you found a rhythm, bouncing on Dean and twisting your hips every so often, figuring out by trial and error the things that you and Dean liked. His hips began meeting you thrust for thrust, making his cockhead sink deeper and deeper inside of you.

You were so distracted with each other that neither of you noticed the door to Dean’s room opening, Sam having no idea what was going on inside.

“Hey, Dean –“ he started, before his eyes went wide. You turned just in time to see Sam throw a hand over his face, turning back into the hallway. “Agh, man! I don’t need to see you pounding it first thing in the morning!”

“Screw you, Sam, you’re the one who didn’t knock!” Dean retorted, winking at you. “Besides, I’m not the one pounding it, Y/N is!”

“Dean!” you squealed at the same time that Sam yelled, “Argh!” and closed the door behind him. You looked down at Dean, seeing the glee and laughter on his face. You slapped his shoulder, appalled at his comment.

“You can’t – I don’t – ugh, Dean!”

Dean laughed out loud at your inability to reprimand him, thrusting up into you deeper. “Ah, come on, babe, I had to say something…” he argued, sitting up so that he could kiss you. “Now, weren’t we in the middle of something here…” he said cheekily before showing off by flipping your positions, your body now underneath Dean’s without him even pulling out.

“Yes, we were…” you said, rolling your eyes at his cockiness.

A movement of Dean’s hips was all it took for your eyes to roll for a completely different reason, the pleasure overwhelming.

Now that Dean was completely awake and energized, he took the lead, thrusting and rolling and pounding into you in all the right ways and bringing you quickly to orgasm. He kissed you as you moaned your pleasure, squeezing around him to bring him to the edge with you. He came soon after you, your name like a prayer from his lips.

He rolled off of your body, panting and out of breath. The two of you laid side to side for a minute, watching each other calm down from your pleasure. Finally when Dean had his breath back, he grinned at you, a smile immediately forming on your face in response. 

“That’s an incredible way to wake up, don’t you think?” Dean asked, and you laughed, sitting up and pushing him off the bed before you got up as well.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, after a shower that was full of Dean trying (and succeeding) in distracting you, you made your way into the kitchen. Sam was sitting at the table, bowl of cereal in front of him as he clicked away on his computer. 

He looked up when Dean walked through the door, face turning red immediately. Dean chuckled, patting him on the back as went for the fridge.

“Nice to see ya again this morning, Sammy,” Dean commented teasingly, earning a glare from both you and Sam. 

“I can’t say the same, bro,” Sam replied, making you laugh.

“Dean,” you said seriously. “Tell Sam I’m sorry he walked in on that, it was awkward for all of us.”

“Nah, Y/N,” Dean began to dismiss, but you put your hands on your hips.

“Dean,” you said as sternly as possible, making him look sheepish.

“Y/N says sorry you walked in on us, but we’re all feeling a little awkward about it, man,” Dean said to Sam, who nodded. “Well, I mean, I’m not feeling awkward, seeing as I have the hottest girl on the planet-“

Your hand slapping Dean on the chest stopped him from being completely obnoxious, and Dean’s reaction to your slap made Sam laugh.

“Dude, you be good to that girl or she’s going to murder you in your sleep and no one on the planet will be able to see her to catch her,” Sam commented, going back to his cereal.

“Yeah, Dean, you better be careful,” you added, smirking at him as you grabbed some fruit, ready to eat.

“You two suck, you know that?” Dean said to you both, getting the carton of eggs out to make his own breakfast. You sat down next to Sam, even though he didn’t know it, and watched Dean move about the kitchen, this morning chalking up to be the best you think you’d ever had.

* * *

Lucky for you, Sam seemed happy that yours and Dean’s relationship had moved to the next level. He didn’t change the way he acted around you (whether he knew you were around or not), and the two of you began your running routine again for the first time since your injury, going out every morning. 

He also began pulling more detailed and specific books from the shelves for you to study up on, and every once and a while asked you a supernatural-y question out of the blue. Of course, he never knew if you answered, but you always did, even if you had to do a little research to find the answer.

You and Dean, while having added sex to your relationship, didn’t change much of your routine either. Now that you were healed, the two of you were sparring again, practicing every different fighting technique that Dean knew. You were a quick learner, and now had the extra incentive of adrenaline-rushed sex every time you pinned Dean on the ground.

The brothers went on a few hunts here and there, leaving you at the bunker still. You weren’t quite ready to get out there, and truthfully it was really helpful for them to have you back with the books where you could help them with research. A few times Dean commented that you were even better at the research than Bobby had been, and you were glad that you could add something to the team without overwhelming yourself.

It was hard when Dean would go on a hunt, but you quickly learned that the ‘welcome home’ sex was well worth it. It almost made up for the empty bed at night, when you found yourself hugging Dean’s pillow to find comfort in his scent.

You and Dean talked on the phone every night before bed when you were away from each other, no matter what time he was available. It was during one of those late-night phone calls that the conversation turned serious.

You were missing Dean, him and Sam having been gone for nearly a week and only home a day before that with the case before, and you were emotional about him being gone so much. Dean could tell by the heaviness of your voice that you were on the verge of tears, and he was feeling awful about you being alone.

“Y/N, babe, please don’t cry,” he cooed, having gone to sit outside of the motel room so he could have privacy and not be teased by his brother. “I promise we’ll be home tomorrow and I have something I want to talk to you about.”

You gasped, afraid of what he would say. No matter how much time you and Dean spent together or talking on the phone, there was always this nagging feeling in the back of your head that he was going to break up with you, the invisible girl, at any given moment.

“It’s not anything bad, I promise, it’s just something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time, but I can’t say it over the phone. I can’t wait to see you – we’ll be home tomorrow, before you know it.”

“Okay, Dean,” you replied, pushing your face into his pillow. It barely even smelled like him anymore, he’d been gone for so long.

“Just sleep, sweetheart, and you’ll see me before you know it.”

Sleep overwhelmed you before you could even hang up, your emotional state exhausting your body.

* * *

Dean was right, because the next thing you knew, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking your shoulders gently to wake you up. You smiled at him, launching yourself into his arms and breathing him in.

“You’re back,” you mumbled against his shirt. Luckily, he understood exactly what you had said.

“Yeah, I made Sammy get in the car right after we hung up. I couldn’t wait any longer to see you, to talk to you,” Dean replied, making you pull away from him and look him in the eye.

“What’s going on, Dean? What did you need to talk to me so badly about?” you asked, nerves overwhelming you once more.

He grabbed your hands in his, bringing them to his mouth and kissing your knuckles. He looked at your hands as he spoke, unable to meet your eyes. “I want you to know how happy you’ve made me these past months, Y/N. I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing you are, and how you’ve changed my life for the better…”

His words fell away and you squeezed his hands, the lump in your throat making it unable to say anything back. Finally Dean looked up at you, swallowing deeply.

“I, uh,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N. I love you.”

Your heart felt as though it were pounding out of your chest, overwhelmed with feelings and emotions for the man in front of you.

It didn’t take you any time at all to know exactly what to say to him, exactly what you were feeling.

“I’m in love with you too, Dean.”

Dean’s lips meeting yours were the last thing you knew before you blacked out.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

_“I, uh,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N. I love you.”_

_Your heart felt as though it were pounding out of your chest, overwhelmed with feelings and emotions for the man in front of you._

_It didn’t take you any thoughts to know exactly what to say to him, exactly what you were feeling._

_“I’m in love with you too, Dean.”_

_Dean’s lips meeting yours was the last thing you knew before you blacked out._

“Sammy!” Dean yelled, arms helping you fall back onto the pillows gently without hurting yourself as you passed out. He held your head in his hand, his other moving to feel your pulse. “Sammy, I need you!”

Dean felt your heartbeat beneath his fingers, making him sigh with relief. He moved his face close to yours, feeling the soft brush of breath on his skin.

Why did you pass out? What was wrong?

Dean’s heart was racing as he held you, completely at a loss for what to do. At that moment, Sam burst open the door, worry in his face.

“Dean? What’s wr-“

Sam’s words caught in his throat, looking at his brother. Dean turned to see Sam over his shoulder, noting Sam’s wide eyes and look of complete shock on his face. Sam began walking to the bed slowly and that was the moment when Dean realized Sam wasn’t looking at him.

Sam was looking at you.

“Dean?” Sam asked, finally making it to the bed and sitting on the side, opposite of where his brother was perched. His eyes raked over your form, seeing you for the first time. “Dean, I – I can see her.”

They met eyes, a mixture of shock, excitement, and worry falling over both of them. “What happened, Dean?”

Sam’s hand carefully moved to your neck, feeling for your pulse just as Dean had done. “We were sitting here talking-“

“Talking about what?” Sam questioned, wanting to know every detail so that he could figure out what was wrong. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, now that he could see you. You looked so peaceful and beautiful laying there, but he wanted to see your eyes. Wanted you to see him, seeing you.

“I, uh,” Dean swallowed. “I told her I loved her, man.” Sam met Dean’s eyes, seeing the serious look there. “She said she loved me too…”

A joyful grin broke from Sam’s face and he reached for his brother, squeezing his shoulder in support and excitement. “Congrats,” Sam said, his happiness for you and Dean overwhelming.

“Then I kissed her, and then she passed out.”

“And now I can see her…” Sam said thoughtfully, bringing his hands back to your face. He brushed your hair away from your forehead, Dean watching carefully. “Dean, I think you broke the spell.”

You found that moment to stir, moaning softly before your eyes fluttered. “Dean?” you mumbled, and Sam pulled his hands away from you to let Dean help you sit up. Sam stayed sitting next to you, staring at your every move as you sat up into Dean’s arms. “What happened?” you asked, eyes still unfocused.

“You passed out, babe,” Dean responded, looking over your head at Sam. “I called Sam in for help…”

You nodded. “Tell him thanks for me,” you mumbled, head against Dean’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” Sam responded, making you freeze in Dean’s arms.

You opened your eyes the rest of the way, turning to look at Sam. He was staring right back at you, a small smile on his face as he looked into your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s really great to finally see you,” Sam said calmly, but you could see the excitement in his eyes and face. You extracted yourself from Dean’s embrace, turning your body to Sam.

“Sam?” you asked, unable to believe that he could actually see you.

He nodded, grinning. You couldn’t help yourself, you launched yourself into his arms, feeling him wrap you up in his own. “Oh my God!” you cried into his shoulder, tears running down your face from being so overwhelmed. 

“Oh my God is right,” Dean said from behind you, and you felt him wrap himself around you and Sam, putting you in a Winchester sandwich. 

Finally the three of you separated, looking around at each other with excitement and wonder.

The curse was broken. Dean had broken your curse, and you couldn’t be happier.


End file.
